Peter Jackson Has Ruined Everything
by Frodo'sPen
Summary: A twist on the girl-is-magically-sent-to-Middle-Earth plot: When Peter Jackson's Hobbit Trilogy threatens to change history, the universe has to intervene.
1. Anywhere But There

**Summary:** A twist on the girl-is-magically-sent-to-Middle-Earth plot: When Peter Jackson's _Hobbit Trilogy_ threatens to change history, the universe has to intervene.

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** I actually love Jackson's retelling. This was just fun to write. I don't own the rights to any of these characters and am not making any money off of this.

"That house was, as Bilbo had long ago reported, 'a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep, or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all'. Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness." — J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Fellowship of the Ring_

Chapter 1: Anywhere But There

I was ready for Rivendell. It had been a long, trying couple of years, and I needed the rest.

I was lying in a quiet glade, on my back, staring at the trees and thinking how nice it was not to have to _think_ about anything for a change, or answer nagging customer questions, or listen to stupid coworker gossip. I was a little cold though. It had been deep summer when I'd vanished from home, and the clothes I was wearing were hardly adequate for Middle Earth. Still, I didn't care. I didn't even care how I had gotten there. I just wanted to rest. I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and exhaled in a long, contented sigh.

The Elves found me there, and for a few hours the magic was shattered.

They asked a lot of questions I didn't have the answers to. No, I didn't know where I was…Rivendell? You must be joking. That's impossible. Rivendell isn't real…So sorry, I didn't mean to give offense. It's just that Rivendell is sort of a legend where I'm from…Where am I from? I don't know how to answer that really…No, I don't know how I came to be here. I was somewhere else, and then I was here. There was no middle bit.

Eventually Lord Elrond closeted me in with him and asked me directly my name (Priscilla. Yes, I know it's awful. People call me Scilla or lose their teeth) and what I knew about where I was. I answered him honestly. My earlier lethargy had receded enough for me to wonder if I was dreaming, and I figured if I was, telling him the truth wouldn't hurt, and if I wasn't…well, telling the truth was still probably the best option.

To his credit, he believed me. He asked a lot more questions, which I answered as best I could. There were tricky bits, as of course inter-world travel was one of the few things that was beyond even Lord Elrond's comprehension, but he seemed satisfied that I was no threat in and of myself, and whatever else was going on, I was at least being honest with him. Therefore, I was allowed to stay, and my weary body and now wearier mind were escorted to a quiet room at the back end of the Last Homely House, and there I passed several weeks completely ignoring the logistics of my situation.

Then the Lady Galadriel came, and it was another round of questioning. I think Elrond had still been wary of me up until this point, but as Galadriel could to some extent read minds, there was no doubt about the truth of my story now. She must have seen things in my humble brain that astonished her not because they were wondrous in and of themselves, but because they were so utterly foreign to her. They only supported my story, however.

When she had finished, she sat down across the table from me and pushed an elaborate goblet of wine in my direction. I sipped it gratefully.

"What do you make of it?" she asked me.

"I have no idea," I said. "Physics were always a little over my head. If I'm not dreaming, something very strange has happened. May I ask what's happening in the world?" As I had no idea what of the history of Middle Earth had happened prior to my arrival, I had avoided mentioning any specifics. I had, however, made certain that both Galadriel and Elrond understood that I knew them.

The world was relatively calm, they told me. There were stirrings in the East, in Mirkwood…

"The Necromancer?" I asked, looking up.

"Yes," said Galadriel. "He has given us pause for some time."

"Ah," I said. "I think I know when I am now. Or at least, whenabouts."

"Does that help you?" she asked gently.

"Not really," I said honestly. "Just gives me my bearings. I'm afraid I still can't tell you how, or why, I am here. This doesn't_ feel_ like a dream…"

Elrond smiled a little at me. "I assure you it is not. The question is now, what to do with you now that you are here? As we do not know how you came to be in Middle Earth, we do not know at present how to send you home. I assure you I will look into this further. In the meantime, I think it best you remain here in Rivendell, until some better course presents itself."

"I would like that very much," I told him, thinking of good wine and warm food and the beauty of all that was around me. As I have said, I had no desire to be anywhere else.

But that "better course" came all too quickly, and as I was rushed along it I learned I was indeed in Middle Earth for a purpose. Things had gone very, very wrong, and I was the only one who could make them right again.


	2. Here Down in the Valley

_O! Where are you going,_

_With beards all a-wagging?_

_No knowing, no knowing_

_What brings Mister Baggins,_

_And Balin and Dwalin_

_Down into the valley_

_In June_

_Ha ha!_

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 2: Here Down in the Valley

Eventually even the best laziness gets boring. The books were in Elvish, and while nearly everyone I found was willing to lend their knowledge and their time, I found the language difficult and the payoff, over so short a period, disappointing. Galadriel and Elrond were closeted together, debating my case and what could be done for me, and hinting at other matters I of all people knew were more important. The Elves were wonderful and beautiful and warm and welcoming, but too far _above_ me to be called company. I was lonely and restless, and beginning to feel like a burden. I took to wandering the woods and halls aimlessly, running my hands across carvings and my bare feet through the cool grass and bubbling streams. I wondered about things I was trying not to wonder about.

Then one day, as I sat perched beside a great waterfall, debating whether it would be less scandalous to shed my garments first or dive in fully clothed, they came.

I almost didn't see it. There was no fanfare at their approach, no welcoming song, no merry offer of comfort and dinner. In fact, I got the distinct impression that comfort was the last thing they were there for. They approached warily, almost angrily, like cheated prisoners rather than supplicants seeking hearth and hall.

I stood, all thoughts of skinny-dipping forgotten, and stared as they wandered in pony-less to meet Lindir. Then, the last thing I expected, the war trumpets sounded, and Elrond rode in with full military gear and entourage. His party circled the dwarves, trapping and taunting them, and they bristled like cornered squirrels.

_I would too_, I thought, wondering what had gone amiss. Where were the hearth-tending hosts I had encountered? Where were the "baking bannocks"?

Elrond descended his great horse to greet Gandalf, and after a moment of tension I could feel, but not hear, from my perch, all seemed well. Ish. The dwarves were led away – I presume to suitable quarters - and Gandalf and Elrond were smiling.

At the back of the party, looking even more confused that I felt, was a figure smaller than the youngest of the dwarves, clean-shaven and entirely out of sync with both the rest of his party and his immediate surroundings. If the dwarves did not belong in Rivendell, _he_ did not belong with the dwarves.

I felt a rush of affection for the hobbit.

I felt the prickle of eyes on me and looked to see Elrond and Gandalf regarding me solemnly. Thinking I'd best go and give an account of myself to the wizard, I left the waterfall. Perhaps now that all three of the Elven ring-bearers were present, answers about my predicament could be found. In any case, I wanted to meet Gandalf. And Thorin. And Bilbo.

Oh, yes, if I was honest, I wanted to meet them all. A tremor went through me, and my legs shook as I descended the long stairs.

I didn't get to them until dinner. An Elf maiden whisked me away in a back hallway to dress for the occasion, for, she said, all manner of import was given to the son of Thrain, and though I was new to their ways, Lindir had asked that she find me finer raiment for the evening's feast.

_Finer than this?_ I thought, staring in dismay at the gossamer I had shuffled around in since coming to Rivendell. But the dress I found laid out on my bed destroyed thoughts of any other, and, as I am_ a girl_, I felt confidence settle on my shoulders with the fabric. Perhaps I was only delaying the inevitable by delighting in all these little things, but it was difficult to care about my future while in Rivendell.

To my surprise, Lindir himself showed up to escort me to dinner. He surveyed me with satisfaction, but didn't offer his arm. I don't think it was the custom. I followed him down the hall, feeling something between honored guest and carefully guarded troublemaker. It may have been that Lindir could make anyone feel like that.

To my surprise, he led me not to a grand hall, but to a wide, open porch. Not that it wasn't beautiful, but I was expecting something more…Scandinavian. There were several tables laid out, and Lindir brought me to the smallest, where Elrond was seated with Gandalf and Bilbo and two dwarves. Galadriel was nowhere in sight.

"My Lady Scilla," Lindir announced, bowling slightly. I did the same, awkwardly, then rose to meet the gazes of Gandalf, Bilbo, and the decidedly unimpressed dwarf I assumed must be Thorin. The second dwarf, seated between him and Bilbo, was much older and had a kinder face.

"Lady Scilla," said Gandalf, "Lord Elrond has told me much of you and your arrival, but I expect there is much more to tell."

"Isn't that true of everybody?" I said without thinking, then bit my lower lip.

Gandalf's smile widened. "Indeed."

"Lady, may I present Thorin Son of Thrain, Son of Thror," said Elrond, and I bowed again. Thorin, surprisingly courteous, inclined his head in a slightly downward direction. "Balin Son of Fundin." The older dwarf actually got out of his seat to bow to me and mutter "at your service," and I winced, thinking of words carved upon a tombstone. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire." I couldn't help it. I smiled broadly at the hobbit. He returned the smile politely, but it was not in his eyes.

"Lady Scilla has been with us several weeks," Elrond explained, "and her story is even stranger than anything you have told me. Yet I do not doubt its truth. Come, dine with us, Lady, for it seems to me your coming at just this time was not the work of chance."

Sitting next to Bilbo, I said, "I don't think anything like my coming could be considered chance."

"I agree," said Elrond, then turned back to Gandalf and Thorin. "Now, tell me more of your journey."

I ate in silence, listening politely to their conversation, and trying not to look like I was listening to Bilbo and Balin's. Every so often a cry or a jeer sounded behind us, and I had to fight the urge to turn around and see what the other dwarves were doing. This was made all the more difficult by Lindir, who was stationed opposite me, and looked as though that stick was driving further and further up every moment.

Then a clear, lilting voice rose up above the clamor, and I could resist no more. A dwarf with a funny curling hat and garb that reminded me, for some reason, of a Mongol, was standing on what was no doubt a sacred plinth and moving his arms as though playing the fiddle. He began to sing:

"Ooohhhhh!...There's an in, there's an inn,

There's a merry old inn,

Beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the man in the moon himself came down

One night to drink his fill!"

_But this isn't right_, I thought. Nevertheless, my foot was tapping.

"Now squeaking hiiiiigggghhhh,

Now purring loooowwww,

Now sawing in the middle!"

I didn't realize I was singing along until I caught Balin staring at me, and I stopped, foot and all.

"You know dwarvish drinking songs?" he asked curiously.

"I know the words," I answered, blushing, "and I know drinking songs." I looked back at the other dwarves as the song dissolved into their laughter. "The tune is not difficult, but there is more to it, is there not?"

"There is," said Balin. "I am surprised a lady like yourself would know it."

"You'll be even more surprised by what else she knows," said Elrond softly, and I knew he was looking not at Balin or me, but at Gandalf.

For the first time since my arrival in Rivendell, I felt a chill. The significance of the timing was not lost on me, and yet things felt…off. Nothing of the dwarves' treasure hunt had been mentioned at dinner. In fact, only the specifics of their journey had been discussed, not the purpose. This did not quite seem like the noble quest I remembered hearing about in my childhood, but rather some complicated form of tax evasion. I did not know why I had this impression, only that something was not right. Having known this story since childhood, I ought to have had my bearings better, but I felt as adrift as Bilbo looked, and not only because I didn't really belong in Middle Earth. It bothered me that Gandalf was not discussing matters more openly with Elrond. I felt the omissions were deliberate.

"Lord Elrond tells me you know a great deal of the history of Middle Earth," said Gandalf quietly, "and of its future."

I could not speak for several moments. Elrond took my astonishment for what it was. "I felt it best that Gandalf should know everything. If you know him as you claim, you will know you can trust him. As for the others," he nodded to Thorin and Balin, "as I have said, your timing cannot be chance. My heart tells me you may be able to help each other."

"What does he mean?" asked Thorin, rightfully suspicious. "Are you a seer?"

"Em, sort of," I answered, staring helplessly at Elrond. He made no attempt to stop me, so I continued. "I'm…I'm from…the future. Far, far into the future, or…or from another world. We're not quite sure…"

"How is this possible?" Thorin asked in wonder.

I shrugged. "We don't know. I didn't _mean_ to be here. I just…came. But I know of your…travels, and your history."

"How much do you know?" he said sharply.

"Lots. Everything. I even know that Mr. Baggins left his pocket handkerchief behind."

Bilbo's hand went to his breast pocket.

"I cannot explain it," I added hastily. "It's a mystery even Lord Elrond has not been able to solve."

"Thorin," Balin said. "She may be able to help us."

I held up my hands. "Wait. _Wait_. I don't think I should _change_ anything. I don't think that's why I'm here. I mean, assuming I'm here for a reason."

"Can you not help us avoid pitfalls we might otherwise encounter? Why else would you be here at such a time, if not to aid our quest?"

"_Thorin_," Balin said in warning.

"Maybe…" I had been struggling with this very thought all along. Why _was_ I here? I was not a great believer in fate. I usually counted things as they were and tried not to read too much into them. But Elrond was right. This was too much like coincidence to truly be so.

I thought of those little things that were making me uneasy. I thought about how, even now, whatever Elrond was thinking was still an educated guess, because neither Gandalf nor the dwarves had _told_ him anything. "Maybe I'm not here to change things, but to make sure they happen as they should."

Gandalf looked at me sharply. I wondered how much of my discomfort showed in my face. I wondered how much Elrond already knew. I wondered if he also guessed things about me he had not yet admitted to.

I turned to look at the other dwarves again. They seemed merry enough, but an unfamiliar shadow hung over their company and in fact over the entire porch. I set down my fork, giving up on the feast. Distrust did not sit well in the Last Homely house, or in my stomach.

Before the feast, I had expected some sort of council to be convened and half hoped I'd be welcome, but there was no such meeting. Neither Gandalf nor Elrond attempted to speak with me, and Galadriel was still keeping to herself. I took to wandering again.

It was in this way that I finally met Bilbo Baggins. For all his talk of home and armchairs, the hobbit had just as much curiosity and wanderlust as I did. I found him surveying a waterfall not far from my rooms, which, as I have said before, were deep at the back of the house.

"Hello," I said, cautiously approaching him, "or 'Good Morning,' or 'at your service'…I'm not really sure what's called for here."

He was a moment before responding, "Hello is well enough for me. The morning is already good, and I don't need your service." He smiled, and I joined him at the railing. Before us, the river crashed in dozens of strands to the valley below, and there was no need for sound apart from its roar. I remembered then why I had been so content when I first came to Rivendell and wondered at the dissatisfaction that now rippled under my skin.

"_To wear a sword instead of a walking stick,"_ I thought, then shook myself.

Bilbo had turned to peer curiously at my behavior when Elrond approached us. He took the railing to the other side of me. The strangeness of it all finally hit me, and I seemed to see us as we must have looked from behind.

_This is no dream…_

"The truth is that most of them don't think I should _be_ on this journey," Bilbo was saying.

Indeed?" said Elrond. "I've heard that hobbits are very resilient."

"Really?" Bilbo asked, surprised.

Elrond nodded in that half way of his. "I've also heard that they're fond of the comforts of home."

Bilbo twitched at this and answered without thinking, "I've heard that is it unwise to seek the council of Elves, for they will answer both yes and no."

Elrond glared down at him proudly, and Bilbo seemed to remember himself. But Elrond smiled, and stepping around me, set a gentle hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "You are very welcome to stay here, if that is your wish." He turned to me. "As are you."

We watched him go, then looked at each other. Unable to repress it any longer, I said, "Yes, I am as out of place here as you feel," and Bilbo laughed.

"Well," he said, "I suppose we will make the best of it."

"Best of what?" came a voice from behind us, and I turned to find two younger dwarves. _Very much_ younger.

"Fili and Kili?" I guessed.

"At your service," they said, bowing.

I frowned. It wasn't their service I wanted, but an explanation. I had always imagined even the youngest dwarves to be grizzled, with overlarge noses, but the two standing before me were…well, if I had been on the same scale as them they would have been _attractive_.

_Hot dwarves?_ Hot _dwarves_?

The rest of their company followed shortly, and soon the refuge Bilbo and I had sought was crowded with small, burly men. I was overwhelmed, if not by the smell, by the variety among them. Perhaps my imagination as a child had been limited, but I found I was looking at individuals rather than differently colored hoods and cloaks.

Most notable of all was Thorin. He only gave me a slight nod in greeting, but now I was paying attention. I had been too preoccupied at the feast to really notice, but Thorin was…well, more _majestic_ than I had envisioned, more noble. The dwarves gathered round him like warriors a beloved commander, rather that rag-tags a slightly snippier rag-tag.

This was a leader even _I_ would have followed, regardless of his bad manners.

It occurred to me that legends change over time. They simplify or amplify, depending on the storyteller. Perhaps Tolkien had really known bits of something the rest of us had not, and what was in front of me was the truth, or something closer to it. Somehow, though, this answer did not sit any better with me. I was unsatisfied with it. I resolved to spend my stay in Middle Earth solving the Riddle of the Discrepancies. At the very least I could return home with a better appreciation for one of my favorite tales. I would learn all I could in Rivendell, then ask Bilbo for a full account when he returned.

The Fates – or Something – had a different plan for me, however. The dwarves had been closeted away for hours, and even after so short an acquaintance I missed their noise.

I was out by one of the waterfalls again, when I heard Galadriel call to me.

_Call _might be an overstatement. I didn't hear her, not exactly. I simply felt that she wanted me and knew where to go. I followed and found her where I knew I would: on another, more secluded porch speaking with Gandalf. The conversation seemed private, so I held back before approaching.

"Why the Halfling?"

"I do not know. Sauruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. I have found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me courage."

"Me too," I said without thinking, and, because there was nothing for it, stepped out from behind a pillar. "He always has."

Galadriel smiled at me. "I agree then with Lord Elrond, Lady Scilla. You were _meant _to be here. Indeed, I have always thought so. But I do not think you should remain in Rivendell. The dwarves have fled – "

"_What?_ But you were supposed to help them!"

"Peace," said Galadriel, raising one white hand. "They have fled, and Gandalf will follow. Will you go with him and lend him your courage along the way? He may have need of it before he finds his Halfling again."

"I might too," I snorted. "My Lady…" I hesitated, because I didn't know if I should be speaking about this, then went on because it seemed not mentioning it was worse. "Thing are…different than I supposed they would be. Not bad, not on a grand scale, and I have seen nothing to cause _real_ alarm yet, but…well, I am uneasy."

"So should you be," said Gandalf. "Your knowledge, if not properly checked, could pose a danger to Middle Earth, but to keep you locked up seems to me the greater folly. Tell me, does your knowledge of this quest extend beyond its events, perhaps even to the greater fate of Middle Earth?"

"Yes, it does."

"And does all, in the end, work together for the best?"

I thought of Bilbo finding the Ring and Gollum's greedy final sacrifice. I thought of Bard destroying Smaug and freeing Laketown, Mirkwood, and the surrounding countryside. I thought of Thorin's death, and Bilbo's return to the Shire and adoption of the eventual Ringbearer. I thought of all the things that _seemed_ little, but had great import. And I thought of all the things that had nothing to do with the fate of anything, but were simple human nature. And I thought that Tolkien was a master at turning people's bad decisions to the greater good.

This was a very bad decision I was about to make.

"It does, though it does end in sadness as well."

"Then I think, perhaps, that this is your quest," said Gandalf. "Will you come with me and watch the fate of those we meet? Will you help to ensure that all is as it should be? I have talked long with Elrond and Galadriel about you, and they agree: your coming here was no accident. Come with me now, and we will face the coming storm together."

'_O! Will you be staying,_

_Or will you be flying?_

_Your ponies are straying!_

_The daylight is dying!_

_To fly would be folly,_

_To stay would be jolly!_

_And listen and hark_

_Till the end of the dark_

_To our tune._

_Ha ha!_

.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_


	3. O'er the Misty Mountains Cold

"As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of the dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick."

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 3: O'er the Misty Mountains Cold

I dashed back down the hall, skirts flying around my knees. I hoped Lindir was nowhere about, because he would undoubtedly take my frenzy for what it was: guilt. Once safely inside my own rooms, I sunk back against the door to breathe and understand, just for a moment, what I was doing. A panic started to rush up inside of me as it sunk in, and I shook my head frantically, shoving my emotions down in favor of the more practical concern of finding traveling clothes.

My own clothes – the ones I had come in – were cleaned and pressed and hanging in my wardrobe along with the borrowed gossamer gowns I had been prancing around in, but they were no more adequate for a journey in snow than the Elven dresses. I was staring in dismay at my options, wondering if one of the other rooms in this hallway was meant for a male guest, when a knock at the door nearly sent me flying out of my skin.

I stood, frozen, wondering if it was Lindir or Elrond himself come to accuse me, but it was a soft, unfamiliar female voice that called out, "My lady, the Lady Galadriel has sent me to you."

There were no locks in Rivendell, at least not in the sleeping quarters, so I called out, "Come in."

An Elf maid entered, tiny in the waist and painfully graceful. In her arms was a soft brown bundle. She held it out to me with a kind smile. "She sent this to you, along with her good wishes. While you are gone, she says, she will continue to search for a way to return you to your home."

I took the bundle, but could do no more than stare up at the woman gratefully, for I felt again the import of what I was doing. I was going with Gandalf. We would trudge through snow and meet the dwarves deep in the Goblin caves in the Misty Mountains. We would hide out in Beorn's hall and find our way to Mirkwood, and there I would have a few decisions to make. If I made it that far.

And I wouldn't be able to bath or shave my legs for weeks. Good thing my traveling companions were fifteen burly men.

In the midst of my thoughts, the Elf maid had retreated, and I found I was standing alone with Galadriel's gift. It was men's gear, of course. Thick, fitted trousers, two shirts, and a tight undershirt I supposed was meant to give me some support. Boots of a strong but supple leather than came up to my knees. Wool socks and fingerless gloves. Over all went a jacket, cloak, and hood.

There was a pack with food, waterskins, and a second set of clothes. I dumped out one of the waterskins and refilled it from a bottle of wine that had been sent to my room with a previous day's luncheon. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long moment, taking in the girl that had no business traveling over mountains on foot. Her face and body were soft, her skin was pasty, and her eyes were frightened. And she had never really enjoyed camping. Nevertheless, I shouldered the pack and went to the door.

I was still paranoid of being found out. While I felt that Elrond would understand, Gandalf had explained their disagreement over the dwarves' quest, and I felt I was betraying my host. I cracked the door open to peer cautiously about me.

There was no need. Gandalf was waiting for me in the hallway, and in his hands were two objects I would be grateful for in the weeks to come. One was a small broadsword, just fitted to a woman's grip and strength. Eventually I would be able to swing it with ease, but at that moment it felt discouragingly heavy. The other was a walking stick.

Gandalf didn't say anything. He simply led the way down the hall with a confidence that belied our secrecy and haste. We took several turns I knew nothing of, miraculously meeting no one, and eventually came to the path that led out of Rivendell. In all my time there, I had never considered taking it. There were no horses waiting for us, just a couple of bedrolls. I looked up at Gandalf.

"We have everything we need," he said kindly. "There is no need to worry."

I nodded and gripped my walking stick more tightly.

Where I am from, we have devastatingly cold winters, and I am used to wearing thick layers, drinking dark beers, and fighting my siblings for the spot on top of the heater. I have spent hours shoveling my driveway in snowstorms, only to get up at five o'clock the next morning to do it all over again.

The greatest blizzard of my lifetime was nothing compared to what Gandalf and I walked into.

The snow whirled every which way, and there was nothing but white, and beyond the white a grayer white. It was like a bad concept of Heaven…or Purgatory. I kept my head bowed under its hood, which turned out to be less than sufficient, and my left hand on Gandalf's cloak. My right hand gripped my walking stick firmly. Two lifelines. Two objects that were all I knew in the world.

I don't know how long we went on like that. The time was as incomprehensible as the direction, but at some point I felt Gandalf turn sharply, and, clutching harder so that I did not lose him, I followed. The turn brought us into the wind, and I bowed my head still further against its fury. Then, abruptly, it was gone.

I looked up, suspicious and bewildered. "A cave!" I exclaimed unnecessarily.

Gandalf muttered indulgently. "Indeed. We won't get further without a rest."

"You mean we've gotten somewhere?"

"Of course we have! Do you think this is my first snowstorm?"

I clammed up, then, after shaking an entire snowman off myself, set to breaking out our supplies. Gandalf was making a fire without the aid of a tinderbox or lighter fluid. When he was finished, there was a full blaze, and it held.

"Now, that should keep us warm for a little, I think," he said proudly.

"And if it doesn't, this will make us think we are anyway," I said, passing him the wineskin.

Gandalf chuckled and took a swig. "My dear, you are the finest traveling companion I have met thus far."

"Thank whichever fine vineyard supplied this vintage." I took a drink of my own, then passing it back to him, began rummaging in my pack for something more substantial. "My home is in wine country. If I had been allowed the time to plan, I would have brought the contents of my cellar."

"Is it indeed?" said Gandalf. He watched me for a moment as I prepared the food. I am a fine cook, given the right ingredients, and I figured as long as he was guiding us and lighting fires and fighting off villains, I might as well contribute something to the journey. "Tell me of your home, or rather, the part of your home that concerns Middle Earth, for you have never been clear on that point."

"They're books," I answered honesty. I threw a little salt on the pan, waited for it to heat, then added the fish. I had decided early on that there was no reason not to tell the truth, up to a point. After that it was a matter of stating simply that revealing more could jeopardize the fate of Middle Earth, and that I didn't want to risk it. I would tell them nothing of their futures. Not even Thorin. "Fiction, we call them, legends that are not true, but rather sprung from a gifted imagination. But the storyteller knew what he was doing, so perhaps they are true after all."

"All evidence," said Gandalf, "is in favor of the latter. At least, it seems so from my position."

"Mine too, now," I said. "it must be history, though I confess this is not entirely the story I have been told."

"Yes, you said that, but have not explained," said Gandalf shrewdly.

I sighed. "It's little things that are different. Maybe they are things that have been lost over the years, or twisted…you know how it goes with tales. But they bother me, and I have been watching them. Sometimes the little things are the important ones, I have found." I added some vegetables to the mixture in the frying pan.

"As have I," said Gandalf. "You are watching, no doubt, for some significant difference. Is the fate of this quest of such great import?"

"Perhaps not," I said, "but bits of what happen along the way are, and…No, I do believe this quest is important. I cannot say why, exactly, but I believe that if this doesn't end precisely as it is meant to, history will shake."

"'History will shake?'" the wizard repeated. "Well, well." He was silent several long moments, during which the food was finished, and I stopped being dramatic long enough to fill a plate and pass it to him. "I think we ought to discuss what to tell those we meet along this journey."

"You mean the truth won't do for everyone?" I asked wryly, taking a bite of my fish. It was plain, but as good as I could make it given the conditions.

"No, certainly not. For the dwarves, I think, especially as Thorin and Balin already know some of it. The others might as well know too. Aside from that… unless you meet along the way someone you are certain you can trust, I think we should say that you are a seer."

"A seer..." I said to myself. Then, to Gandalf, "Well, that makes more sense than it doesn't."

We ate in silence awhile, passing the wineskin back and forth. I wonder how it was for Gandalf, if he minded my company, or the company of the dwarves, or if he preferred traveling alone. He seemed to have a great deal on his mind, and it would have been easier to ponder in solitude, no doubt. But sharing alcohol is socialization enough for anyone of quality, in my opinion, and the wizard gave no hint that he resented my presence. So we were as companionable as we were going to get.

My own thoughts wandered. I thought of my home, of my dog, who I hoped someone was feeding, and my family. I thought of my nephew and the niece that was soon to be born. I missed them, I realized with astonishment. I hadn't given it thought previously, being too caught up in my adventures, but under the excitement and confusion was homesickness.

"Gandalf?" I asked tentatively.

"Mm?"

"Do you know how to send me home?" It was a stupid question, maybe, but I had to ask.

"If I did," he said impatiently, "don't you think I would have done so already?"

"Maybe…" I said, not convinced.

"And haven't Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel been trying their best to help you?"

"But they are Elves," I said quietly. "And you are one of the Maiar."

The silence that stretched out after that was thicker than the walls of the cave and louder than the storm outside. Gandalf scrutinized me grimly, no doubt seeing this knowledge as an intrusion, but I held his gaze. It was not my fault I knew, and I hadn't told anyone. I suspected anyone he wanted to know already did.

"I do not know how to send you home," Gandalf said at last. "Nor have I any idea how you came to be here. But, as the Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel have already promised, I will do everything I can to help you."

I nodded, a little embarrassed, and ready to drop the whole thing.

"But," Gandalf added, and he held my gaze once more, "I want a promise from you in return." I gulped, then nodded. Usually I will not promise something I have not heard, but I felt there was no refusing him. "Promise me you will do whatever is necessary to ensure this quest ends as it is meant to. Promise me you will protect our history, with your very life if necessary."

"I promise," I whispered, without hesitation.

And thus I sealed my fate.


	4. Down Down to Goblin Town You Go, My Lass

_"Clap! Snap! the black crack!_

_Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!_

_And down down to Goblin town_

_You go, my lad!_

_Clash, crash! Crush, smash!_

_Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!_

_Pound, pound, far underground!_

_Ho, ho! my lad!"_

_Swish, smack! Whip crack!_

_Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!_

_Work, work! Nor dare to shirk,_

_While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,_

_Round and round far underground_

_Below, my lad!"_

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 4: Down Down to Goblin Town You Go, My Lass

The next day dawned gloomy and threatening, though the storm itself had stalled. Gandalf and I emerged from our shelter with determination, if not confidence. He led the way up the mountain without comment, and I followed with a sigh and a leaden step.

We were on the second mountain before Gandalf began to be uneasy. "Hmfph," was all he said.

I stopped. It was noon anyway. However much I may have rejected the hobbit notion of twelve or so meals a day, I at least believed in three. "What?" I said. There was no real reason for my snippiness. It was born of weary feet and growing unease. I felt as though I had left something behind, and it wasn't my pocket handkerchief.

"I told Thorin to wait for us here in the mountains," said the wizard slowly.

"Well, we're in the mountains. I don't suppose you thought to specify _which_ mountain?"

The wizard glared down at me, but before he could speak, I remembered.

"Uh, oh."

His eyebrows pushed together. "What is it?"

"You were supposed to be with them."

"What do you mean?"

There was nothing for it. "When they made camp in the cave, you ought to have been with them. Then you would have known…"

I trailed off as I realized the fix we were in. I hoped Gandalf knew where the goblins in this part of the mountains lived, specifically the Great Goblin, because I certainly didn't. The books hadn't specified if the caves the dwarves entered were in Moria, or somewhere else. Gandalf would no doubt know how to get to Moria, but it was still larger than we had time to search, and if they weren't there…

Now it was the wizard losing his temper. "Known _what_?"

I gulped. "They're not here. They're in the caves. They've been captured by the goblins."

The wizard stared at me. "Which caves?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. The Great Goblin took them."

Gandalf was now staring ahead of us at the mountain. "I know where they are. Come, my dear. It seems your first adventure will be a daring rescue."

"Just call me Errol Flynn."

"'Gotta, gotta get me out of here…'" I sang softly to myself, my voice hopping off the walls around me. It was not a wise thing to do, but it helped to stave off the quiver in my limbs.

"Quiet!" said Gandalf sharply. "Our advantage is in speed and stealth, and you don't even know how to use that sword."

"Since we're on that subject, any advice?" If I had been a smarter person, I would have asked for lessons while I was in Rivendell, or during any of the nights Gandalf and I had camped.

"For starters, _draw it_," Gandalf hissed. Feeling foolish, I obeyed, and we continued in silence, for it was really too late for lessons. Before long, there was a glow ahead and music, and following it, we came to the end of our tunnel and to a wide, deep, and roaring cavern. I momentarily tucked the sword beneath my arm to draw my gloves off and stuff them in a pocket. Gandalf crouched in front of me. I stared at the scene before me and wished desperately for the Goblins of George MacDonald, for the ones before me were both hideous and terrifying, and there were many of them.

From the looks of things, they had our dwarves, but not our hobbit.

Before them all, on a rickety throne that was more or less composed of his subjects, sat the most repulsive Goblin of all. I was suddenly grateful I hadn't had lunch, and the dwarves looked just as green as I felt.

"Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the Bone-Breaker!" he was saying. He was surprisingly articulate for one so ugly. "Start with the youngest!"

"Wait!" cried Thorin in a deep and commanding tone. He stepped forward, and I thought knew then why these dwarves followed him so devotedly.

'Well, well, well!" exclaimed the Great Goblin happily. "Look who it is. Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain!" He bowed, then smiled as evilly as he could without cheek muscles, and continued, "Oh! But I'm forgetting you don't have a mountain, and you're not a king. Which makes you…nobody, really."

The goblins cackled, and Thorin bristled noticeably, but did not rise to the taunt.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak? An old enemy of yours, a Pale Orc, astride a White Warg?"

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed," said Thorin defiantly. "He was slain in battle long ago!"

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" the Great Goblin turned to a wretched creature at his side. "Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have his prize." The smaller goblin cackled, then was whisked away on one of the mountain's many contraptions. I wondered again, absurdly, if we were in Moria after all.

The Great Goblin began another appalling song as his minions brought up the devices he had asked for. They looked little different from all the other platforms and contraptions about us, but I had no doubt he could make them painful. The dwarves looked terrified, and though I trusted Gandalf, I was anxious for us to make our move.

And then, belatedly, the dwarves' weapons were thrown before the Great Goblin, and he recoiled. "I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!" The dwarves were struggling, tossed about on the platform like a school of fish in a net, but the goblins closed in on them with renewed fury. "Blast them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all! _Cut off his head!_"

Just as it seemed all hell would break loose, Gandalf turned to me to whisper, "Shield your eyes! Quickly!" I obeyed and felt him rise. Through my elbow and closed lids, I felt a light shatter the cave around us, and when I looked again, both dwarves and goblins had been blinded and thrown to the ground. Gandalf strode forward slowly, gracefully, and I darted ahead of him.

I went to Thorin first. I crooked a hand under his upper arm to help him up, astonished at how heavy such a small person was. As his eyes adjusted, he stared in wonder first at me, then at Gandalf. I left him go, feeling I had somehow overstepped my bounds, and moved along to help Balin and the older dwarves next.

Fili and Kili were already on their feet. "Decided to come along?" Kili asked me with a grin.

"Something like that," I answered. "Can we get out of here?"

"I agree," said Gandalf, just as the drums began to pound. "Take up arms! Fight! _Fight_!"

All was chaos again as we fled.

"_Run!_" I shouted. I found myself with the younger dwarves, bustled along from the waist down. The drums were throbbing in the walls and the platforms and stairs were shaking beneath so many dwarven boots and filthy goblin feet. The light was poor and as unsteady as everything else in that place. I slipped and skidded more than ran, at one point nearly careening into the crevasse. I was saved by Fili, and then after a nod of thanks we were off again, and Goblins were upon us, and I learned all at once how to fight.

It was mayhem. There was no strategy in that place. If it looked like a goblin and it came at me, I hacked at it with my sword. There was no time to pay attention to what my companions were doing. I followed as best I could. Once or twice Fili had to backtrack again to help and pull me along. We used boulders and ladders and torches to fight. Our weapons became as random and confused as the landscape we fled through.

Finally – I never saw how – we were falling, and the underworld seemed to be falling with us. We tumbled en mass to land in a heap at the bottom of a mercifully small cavern. I was pinned beneath Thorin, and then I was shoved further down by the body of the Great Goblin, which landed on top of the lot of us.

There was a moment of companionable agony, and then Kili shouted, "Gandalf!" and we were running again, because they were still coming for us.


	5. Out of the Frying Pan & Up to the Eyrie

"The wind went on from West to East;

all movement in the forest ceased,

but shrill and harsh across the marsh

its whistling voices were released."

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 5: Out of the Frying Pan and Up to the Eyrie

I lay on my stomach staring ahead, the rocks and trees thousands of feet below me not a concern for the moment. I could handle the drop, so long as I didn't move. Before me stretched a lot of countryside, a thick blue-gray bunch that had to be Mirkwood, and beyond that…

The Lonely Mountain.

Behind me the dwarves were celebrating or recovering from our recent escape. No doubt the small store of wine I had brought was now gone. They had offered me a share of the supplies Gandalf and I had brought, but, small though it was, I had refused. I didn't think my stomach could take anything.

My gaze had narrowed in on the mountain now, and all that lay between us combined with all that came before had brought me sharply to reality. Until now, I had been living half in and half out of my adventure, like a particularly invested reader, but now I knew that I was fully in this world, in Middle Earth, and I was going to have a scar to prove it.

I was avoiding looking at the thing. It had been well-tended by Fili, who had smirked and smiled and made well-intentioned jokes that I was a real warrior now, but it was still ugly, and it was still not going away. It was on the soft inside of my upper arm, where every movement would remind me of it, and consequently that I was in over my head. Whatever Fili said, I was _not_ a warrior, and I never should have been on an adventure like this. I had thanked him in an undertone, then moved to sulk on the edge of the outcropping that reminded me sharply of Pride Rock.

The breeze tickled my hair. Beneath the untidy mess I had made of it, with leather thongs and clever braids, my scalp itched. Too much sweat, too much grime. I longed for a shower. I longed for conditioner. I longed for _home_. I closed my eyes as the breeze picked up and let myself drift along it back the way I had come, back to Rivendell and further. Beneath me, the rock was cool and smooth. Above me, the sun was warm, but light. I could pretend I was anywhere.

Laughter broke out behind me, and I came back to the present with a strange ache. My life, my _true_ life, was not an exciting one, but it was still _mine_, and regardless of how restless I sometimes got, I was now able to say with conviction that adventures were much more profitable from the comfort of an armchair.

There was a step beside me, and I opened one eye to peer up at my visitor. He took a seat on a small boulder. I did not stand, for like this we could remain almost on a level.

"I understand we have you to thank for our rescue," Thorin said.

I lifted a hand lazily to wave this off.

"I will not pretend to understand how to you came to be here, or how you know the things you know," he went on. "I hope you will be willing to continue to aid our quest. Even I recognize that our chances of success are small, but with your coming, I believe they have grown."

I chose my words very carefully. This was an awkward moment, and I would not promise help I could not deliver. The dwarves would succeed on their own, barring any more strange mischances. However, I knew that I might be able to prevent some of the disasters that would happen along the way, and though I did not know precisely how the dwarf in front of me would die, I knew that he _would_, and I felt my silence made me culpable in that death.

"I can only ensure that this quest plays out exactly the way I have…seen it," I said. "My own…_quest_ is to prevent any misfortune from happening that would change the course of history. Call it destiny, I suppose. I promise you I will step in if I see you straying from your destiny."

Thorin was silent a moment. "You will offer no counsel then? No hint of what is to come?"

"I might very well do great damage if I did."

"I do not understand."

"I know."

There was another silence, and I wondered how angry he was. I lowered my chin to rest atop my arms and stared out at the mountain once more. The sun had moved behind us, and its rays were catching the snows at the mountain's peak. I wondered what natural disaster had put that mountain there all by itself. I felt a kinship with it, surrounded as I was by small burly men.

Thorin spoke again. "The treasure we seek has been divided already, but I will sort out some reward for you, should we succeed."

I shot up onto my elbows to stare at him. Compensation had never occurred to me. "Your Highness…thank you, but the only reward I want is to return to my own home, and I do not think that is in your power."

"You needn't call me that," Thorin said, though he had seemed pleased at the title. "Will it be so difficult to get you there?"

"If it wasn't, I'd be there already," I said bitterly.

Thorin's breath came out his nostrils abruptly, almost like a laugh. He leaned down to rest a hand on my shoulder. "I understand what it is to be without a home, as our hobbit has pointed out so insightfully. Even if the wizard and his Elves cannot get you there, I promise, you will always have place with my people. You will lack for nothing, so long as I draw breath."

My own breathing skipped a beat or two at that, and I could do nothing but stare at him for a moment. I hoped my gratitude was all he saw then, and not my foreboding. The moment passed, and I thanked him.

"Come then," he said, standing. "You need lessons."

"Lessons?" I asked, rising.

"The trick," Kili was telling Bilbo and me long moments later, "is to know how to balance, so you don't have to think so much about it when you're fighting. You can focus on your enemy instead."

This seemed to me good advice for any tricky life situation, but I bit my lip and spread my feet like he showed me.

"I'm only going to show you the basics, because that's all we have time for," Kili continued. "Thrust, parry…" And for an hour Bilbo and I were performing three or four movements over and over, until they were as flawless as either of us could make them in so short a time.

"Trust your instincts," Balin put in, when the other dwarves' jeering had died down. He had been watching closely the whole time. "Move when you feel you should move. Keep your eyes on your opponent's chest. It will tell you everything he does before he does it, and it will not lie the way his eyes will." He came over to pat my elbow encouragingly. "You'll do fine. How is your arm?"

"It aches," I answered honestly, twitching it a little.

"It will do that. I wish we had better medicine…Gandalf?"

"Do I look like a healer?" the wizard grumbled from the rock he was seated on. "It will heal by itself in time, and she will be stronger for it."

"Battle is no place for a woman," Dwalin barked.

"Anyone without training," I corrected him.

He glared up at me. "Whatever did you bring her for?"

"I brought her," said Gandalf, rising, "to ensure this quest does not go astray. She has been very helpful to you already, so I suggest you get over it and help her in turn."

"Hardly any of this company could be called warriors," Thorin put in. "And at any rate she has shown more resilience to the cold and the wild than the burglar."

The dwarves all laughed. "That's very funny," said Bilbo, pretending to join them.

"Not everyone gets training before going into battle," continued Thorin. "We will make do with such friends and companions as we can. A seer is not the worst thing to happen to this quest."

"True enough!" said Gandalf. "And now, I think we had best be moving. The sun is going down, and we've wasted enough time here."

"And we're off walking again," Bilbo muttered, coming to stand beside me. "A rest without food or proper sleep? That is a waste."


	6. Queer Lodgings, Queerer Conversations

"The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,  
The reeds were rattling—on it went.  
O'er shaken pool under heavens cool,  
Where racing clouds were torn and rent."

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 6: Queer Lodgings, Queerer Conversations

We spent a day or two scrambling down from the Eyrie and through the foothills. Perhaps it would have taken less time had we not been avoiding the orcs. Perhaps it _should_ have taken less time regardless. I don't know. I do know that my next cause for alarm was also the next stage of our journey.

"What form did it take? Like a bear?"

There was none of the well-planned story-telling, no strategic entrance, and though my memory of this part of the book was a little fuzzy, I still knew this was wrong. In the end, I was curled up in an alcove of Beorn's Hall, refusing both food and company and wondering just when all the little side paths this story was taking would merge to take us off course.

It did occur to me that this might not be so bad. The only event I could say with authority would have impact in the long run was Bilbo's finding of the Ring, and I knew he had done so. His manner had become both more secretive and more twitchy, though no one would have noticed if they weren't looking for it. He fiddled with his pocket a lot. A nervous tick, if the others were paying attention. Possessiveness, as I was in the know.

I was trying, there in the hall with the mead and the milk and the honey flowing freely around me, to work out whether or not my services were actually required. The anxiety that had begun in Rivendell was steadily growing, and this odd dynamic between Gandalf and Beorn sat just as ill as the distrust between Gandalf and Elrond. I felt at that moment that I did not known the wizard, though a week before I would have said I'd known him all my life. Yet I had no real cause for alarm. There was nothing _dire_ happening. Or not happening. It just didn't feel the same.

I realized when I had first come to love this story I was a child, and as child I had felt about it as children do. Now I was an adult, and the events unfolding around me were adult, and my feelings about them were adult. If nothing else, those feelings were a disappointment.

Bilbo, still the other odd one out despite his heroics with Azog, found me eventually. He had two plates of food, and when he nudged my arm with one I realized they weren't both for him.

"Thank you," I said, taking the platter. With that hand now free, he untucked a cup of mead from his arm and passed that to me as well.

"You don't look like you want food…or company, but I believe you need it."

I tried to smile. "I suppose I do. At any rate I will when we leave tomorrow."

"Yes…Do you know anything about Mirkwood?" He took a sip from his own cup.

"Lots, and none of it pleasant," I answered darkly. At that precise moment, I remembered the spiders. "Oh."

"What is it?" said Bilbo.

It took everything in me not to shriek right then and there. "Nothing," I said. "Are you ready for this? Because I am not."

"At least you know what to be ready _for_," Bilbo pointed out.

I tipped my head to the side. "I'm not sure that helps. At any rate, it's not _always_ true. I did not know this was how we would come to Beorn's Hall, though I knew we would. I did not know you and the dwarves would sneak away from Rivendell. And I did not know you would save Thorin's life in the mountains."

"Well, I wouldn't have believed it myself until it happened…"

I shook my head. "_No_. It was not, to my knowledge, something that should have happened." He looked slightly downcast at this, so I continued, "I am not sorry it did. I'm simply…troubled and confused."

"Well, we all are, aren't we? I realize it may seem different to you, because you _expect_ to know what's going to happen, but now it's almost as if you're in it with the rest of us."

"Yes, almost." I don't know why I kept speaking after that. I suppose I felt I needed the connection. The story seemed to be whirling by me before I could find my feet. I felt, somehow, that by letting Bilbo understand just how _much_ I knew, I was grounding myself, pushing myself in. "Bilbo, I know about Gollum."

His cup fell to the floor as his hand went to his pocket.

"What are you doing there?" called Beorn.

"Sorry, sorry," Bilbo said hastily. "Clumsy. I'll clean it up, I promise."

Beorn grunted and went back to speaking with Gandalf and the dwarves. Bilbo turned back to me, the overturned mead forgotten. "How…_how_?"

"I told you. I _know_ this adventure. I know it like my fondest childhood memories. But imagine if you could go back to your childhood and suddenly found it was not as you remembered."

Bilbo let this sink in, then looked at me pleadingly. "I am sorry for you, but…you won't tell, will you? I…I'm not ready to tell. I'm not sure I _should_ tell."

"Nor am I," I said, helping him with his justification. The flimsy hold the Ring had on him at this stage was not my concern. He could work out giving it up in sixty years. "I'm not telling you this to lecture you. Leave that to Gandalf. I only wanted someone – anyone – to understand."

"I think I do now," said Bilbo. I flinched. The tone, rather than comforting or welcoming, was only pitying. I took my first sip of mead. There was not enough mead in that hall, I felt, or anywhere, to give me peace in that moment.

I found later, listening to the dwarves, that I would be very happy to pass more evenings of my life listening to such skilled singing. I closed my eyes, as I had on the Eyrie, and let the music flow over me. I tried to find that place deep in myself that cared nothing for details or endgames, but only wanted "to wear a sword instead of a walking stick," that wanted to spend my time loving beautiful things, instead of the usual business at home of flirting in bars and forcing myself awake the next day. My home life seemed so dull and undeserving in that moment, and yet I still missed it. The music could not quite drive off the memory of the satisfaction of being in _my home_, surrounded by _my family_. I opened my eyes a moment to watch Thorin share a joke with Kili and Fili and thought of my own nephew and my niece on the way. Would I miss her birth? Would there still be a place for me when I returned to them?

Gandalf appeared at my side then, and as I turned to look at him, I realized with a shock that I did not quite trust him. I was not certain the wizard would send me home, even if he could. Perhaps all that had been out of place would continue to be out of place. Perhaps my work would never be done, and I would be trapped in Middle Earth until either it or I passed out of all knowledge.

"Are you alright, Lady Scilla?" he asked me. Neither his voice nor his question were unkind, yet they made my loneliness grow. I nodded.

"Drink your mead, my dear," he said. "You're not fooling anyone."


	7. Of Attercop and Tauriel

"All the time he was wondering whether there were spiders in the tree, and how he was going to get down again (except by falling)."

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 7: Of Attercop and Tauriel

The ponies (and second horse) Beorn leant us were set loose at the edge of Mirkwood without instruction, though by Gandalf's manner I could tell he at least knew we were being watched. He entered the forest first, but only went a short distance, and only for a moment. When he returned he announced he was leaving us.

There were bits to this I felt I were missing, and the wizard seemed troubled and distracted. I hoped, whatever had happened, it was nothing I ought to be worried about. I had other concerns, such as where I was going to find another pair of trousers after meeting the spiders.

"Is it wise to let him go?" I looked down to find Thorin. We had barely spoken since the Eyrie.

I nodded. "Yes, I knew he would leave, if that is what you're asking. This bit we can manage ourselves. Or Bilbo can, at any rate."

"The burglar?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Of course. Haven't you learned anything yet?" I slapped the rump of my horse and watched it run off towards the Carrock. I wished I were going with it.

When I turned back, Thorin was looking me over. "You should have eaten more when we were with the skin-changer. You're looking thin."

I wasn't sure whether to be flattered at his concern or angered by his patronization. "I'll live," I said.

When he had moved on, I took a moment to look down at myself. I held my hands in front of me and stared at them. They were rough and brown, a brown that no doubt ended just under my shirt sleeves. I had chilblains from my time in the mountains. I had known about the blisters on my feet for some time, and my calf muscles were tight enough to warrant a nightly massage. My lips, when I rubbed them together, felt coarse and gritty. No doubt my hair resembled a bird's nest. I thought of Aragorn "looking foul and feeling fair." Well, I certainly felt foul to myself.

When I looked around at my companions, however, I felt a certain lightening. My appearance didn't matter to these dwarves any more than their own did. It was wonderful, in a small way, not to have to worry about how I looked for once.

It was sometimes the small things that separated this world from my own.

The journey through Mirkwood was shorter than I anticipated, but just as strange. Mercifully, Bombur did _not_ drink the water, and we did not run out of food, but we all succumbed to the same disorientation. I felt as though a thousand flies were buzzing in my ears, but I couldn't hear them, and there was a thick film over my eyes. The path before and behind me was a haze. I was barely aware that my companions were lost as well, until I felt something brush by me. I lifted my head, slowly, slowly, a greater weight than it should have been. Bilbo was climbing.

I stood there, my lower half swaying, my upper half fixed by the vanishing figure of the hobbit. I waited for him to reappear and tell us all we were alright, which we weren't. I waited for the branches to part, and light, glorious light, to come down. I wasn't sure why I needed the light, but I did. I didn't know…

I awoke in a thicker fog than I'd been traveling in. The air, such as it was, was sticky and clung to my skin and clothes, almost as if it was sealed there. There was a funny chittering about me, but I found I could not open my eyes to tell what it was. I tried to move, but could not do that either. This ought to have been alarming, but such was the quality of the poisoned air that I felt it difficult to care about anything. I was not even entirely aware of my own discomfort.

Then the chittering drew nearer. "Nice and juicy. Fat and fresh. This one's stringy. I'll ring it out so the blood flows over the others."

I screamed.

I wailed and shrieked and beat at my web prison, which of course not only made my bonds tighter, it brought the spiders to me. I writhed and beat my body around, shrieking all the louder when I hit one. Tears ran down my face to mix with the goo.

Terror, as it turns out, is an excellent antidote to poison.

Then I was falling. Not plummeting, mind you, but drifting, my pace arrested by the webs and the trees, but in a soft and passive fashion. It would have been peaceful, had I not been bound in a web.

I hit the ground with a soft thunk and started screaming again. I let loose the full force of my terror, wanting only to be freed. Eventually I felt hands on me, and a voice was saying, "Steady, Lady Scilla, steady." My voice broke down into soft sobs, my body merely shuddering. The worst of the pressure on my chest and limbs was released, and then my face was being cleaned of the webbing. I found I could open my eyes.

Of all people, it was Thorin leaning over me. It was enough to make me stop crying. He didn't speak again, just got to his feet, and just in time too. The spiders were back.

I pulled the few threads of courage I had together and unsheathed my sword.

Battles are always difficult to recount. As Kili and Balin had explained, you live in the moment, and after two or three, those moments run together in a spurt of slashing and blood and, in this case, web. The Elves arrived, and it was over quickly.

These Elves were hardened warriors. They did not have the brawny strength of my dwarves, but fought in a fluid, effortless way, like dancers. They used the landscape and the trees and even the spiders themselves to aid their fight, and they won, of course, not least because they weren't dizzy with poison like we were.

When they had finished, they gathered us all in a row and removed our weapons. I found it somewhat rude of them to rescue us and then take us prisoner. This blow was somewhat softened by a draught that one gave me. I fought him at first, but he made me drink, and my mind cleared. An antidote, then. None of the dwarves were offered it.

With my faculties once more intact, I realized I did not remember Elves fighting spiders. I couldn't imagine that they _wouldn't_, given that they shared the wood with them. But I didn't remember the dwarves observing it. What I remembered of the Elves included deep wisdom and love of song and story and wine and nature, the last in the case of the Wood-elves especially. They ended each day with the Elven equivalent of a Shakespeare in the Park production. There was less merriment about these Elves even than those in Rivendell. I felt the impact of Bilbo's words at the entrance: _This forest feels sick._ The forest _was_ sick. The Elves were sick.

In fact, as far as I could tell, the entirety of Middle Earth was sick.

The Elves appeared to have two leaders, one was a young (at least in appearance) man, and the other was a woman. (_A woman!_) I stared at her, hoping for some display of kinship, but she ignored me. Truth be told, she paid more attention to Kili. She gave the orders, while the man questioned the prisoners.

"Where did you get this?" the man was asking, holding up Orcrist.

"It was given to me," Thorin answered, with more honesty and less pride than I would have expected.

"Not just a thief, but a liar as well," was the Elf's reply.

_So much for the missing pride_, I thought. Then he turned to me.

"And who is this?"

"Our companion, the Lady Scilla," said Thorin. "She has traveled with us across the mountains.

"A human woman?" said the Elven woman. "Traveling with dwarves? I find that difficult to believe."

"It's true," I said. "I've been with them since the mountains." After an incredulous moment, I added, "Voluntarily."

"Hmm," said the man. "I will leave this to my father to sort out." He barked a command in Elvish, and I felt myself lifted to my feet, but I wasn't paying attention. I was staring at the Elf.

_Legolas_, I thought. _This is Legolas. And he _would_ be here, though Tolkien made no mention of it_.

They brought us through the forest, through the gates, up into the heart of the Woodland Realm. There the dwarves were led away to the dungeon, and Thorin and I were led to the king. I was made to wait, while he was brought up to the great chair. As a hall, I thought, the king's throne room left something to be desired. Then again, in such an isolated place, petitions and councils could not be common.

Down the winding stair came the angrier bits of their argument. I flinched as I stood there, hoping Bilbo had made his way in alright. I could not help him here, and Thorin was making no attempt at diplomacy. When they led him away, he reached out to brush my hand. _Good luck_, it seemed to say. I wasn't sure luck was what I needed now.

My turn. I was beyond shabby for a royal audience, and I had no idea what the decorum was in such a place. I bowed lightly, and Thranduil inclined his head.

"Daughter of Men," he said, "how came you into such company?"

I had decided on the march to follow Gandalf's advice. "I am a seer, " I said. "And for a little while my Sight follows the dwarves. I have come to ensure their quest does not go astray."

This was perhaps more candor than was wise, but of course Thranduil already knew what the dwarves were up to, and I suspected my honesty would throw him off.

"And will you tell me of this quest?"

I shrugged. "The future is my province, not yours, and most of it I have not even spoken of to the dwarves. As for the rest, I think you already know."

Thranduil smiled. "So I do. Your Thorin Oakenshield is not a wise king, I think."

"Yes, well, pride has been the downfall of many rulers."

He turned to stare at me sharply. I thought he was angry, but then he laughed. "Indeed. You are most welcome to stay as my guest, Seer. I think your Sight could be of use to me. Perhaps in time we can come to an arrangement that will be to both of our benefit."

I twitched beneath my soiled, sweaty clothes, wondering if staying as a guest included a bath. "I already have the only arrangement I want. It was promised to me by Gandalf the Grey, and by the Lady of Lorien, and by Lord Elrond of Rivendell. The dwarves owe me nothing. I am simply fulfilling my destiny, and here or with them I will do no more or less." I added, as an afterthought. "You should not keep them here."

"I should do only what is my will," said Thranduil. "This is my realm, and they have ventured here without justification or courtesy. Your Sight is your own, as you say, but perhaps a few nights in our company will soften you to my wishes. Your dwarves will remain here, and as your destiny, as you say, lies with them, so too shall you, but with greater hope of comfort. Legolas!"

I hadn't known the prince was standing behind me, so soft was Elven footfall.

"Take the Lady Scilla away. Find her food and drink and such comforts as she desires. Find her clean garments, and when she is refreshed, bring her back to me for tonight's feast."

I was led away, not ungently, by Legolas, who did not speak, but still looked at me with suspicion. He took me through many winding corridors, even more confusing than Rivendell's. I kept looking above me, hoping for a glimpse of the sun. Of all that I had found wrong since entering Mirkwood, the lack of natural light in the Elven realms filled me with the most dread.


	8. Starlight in Bonds

"O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_

Chapter 8: Starlight in Bonds

The bath I took at the beginning of my luxurious imprisonment was everything I could have hoped for. I sank into a deep tub full of floral oils and water hot enough to burn the grime of the road right off of me. There was a cauldron near the fire. I used it for a second bath. There were towels and more oils and, most blessed of all, a razor. If Thranduil was trying to win me over, he had made a good start.

There were Elf maids in the bedroom, but they had been kind enough to let me bath in peace. When I emerged, wrapped in softness and selfishly content, they hovered in my hair and found me a gown that was not the gossamer of Rivendell, but no less fine. I was dressed and ready and whisked off before I had time to feel properly guilty about any of it.

I was unfamiliar with the Feast of Starlight, as one of the maids had named the night's festivities to me. It seemed silly, somehow, to be celebrating any kind of celestial light from a hall that felt underground. The décor, however, was beautiful, and the hall resounded with a music and merriment I had not expected.

Thranduil, up at his table, seemed aloof from it all. I was taken directly there and offered a seat next to Legolas, no doubt so they could keep an eye on me. I bowed stiffly before seating myself, then accepted a glass of wine. The food I only nibbled at.

"Are you not hungry after your journey, Lady?" Thranduil missed nothing.

"Today I have been drugged, poisoned, and taken captive. You'll forgive me if I have a weak stomach."

Beside me, the corner of Legolas's lip twitched.

"I had hoped the comforts of my hall would put you at your ease," Thranduil said, unperturbed. "If there is anything you need while you are here, you must tell my people. They have been commanded to extend you every courtesy."

"Thank you. I would like my gear and my companions and the freedom to walk from your halls alive, if you would be so kind."

Thranduil laughed heartily.

I set down my wineglass. Now even that felt sour.

"I mean it. I am grateful for your hospitality, but I cannot enjoy it with my friends in your dungeon. Would you feel differently if you were in my place?"

Thranduil dismissed this. "Friends? They are dwarves. You will soon forget them. Come, drink our wine, eat our food. Hear our songs and be glad. Nothing evil comes to the Woodland Realm."

I wondered, relenting and sipping my wine, if he would feel quite the same if he knew who I really was. Perhaps he did know, or guessed. What draw could an ordinary human girl have on an Elven king? Or even an ordinary human seer?

"You'll have to forgive my father," said Legolas when Thranduil was distracted. "He believes he is doing you a favor. He speaks loftily, but he is not lacking in compassion."

I shifted this back and forth in my mind while doing the same with the wine in my mouth. Swallowing both, I said, "He believes I do not truly want to be traveling with the dwarves."

"He does," said Legolas. "I know differently."

"Oh?"

"Their leader, Thorin, he looked on you as one under his care."

This was as much a shock as anything else, though I knew as he said it he was right. Thorin had looked after me. Perhaps it was because I was a woman. Perhaps it was because Gandalf had said I'd saved their lives in Goblin Town. Perhaps it was because I could tell him things he thought he wanted to know.

Feast or no feast, I felt lonely again. Regardless of what "courtesy" either Thranduil or Thorin showed me, they both did so because they wanted something from me. They saw me as an asset, not a guest or a traveling companion.

"Your father is right," I admitted to Legolas. "I do not want to be traveling with Thorin."

He turned to look at me.

"I want to go home."

"Then why-"

We were interrupted then by a frantic messenger from Tauriel, the female captain of the guard I had noticed earlier.

"Sire!" the man chirped. "The dwarves! They've escaped!"

Thranduil rose from his seat swiftly and with grace. "How?"

"From the wine cellars, my king. They left in barrels!"

"Find them! Bring them back!"

"That was fast," I said, draining my glass of wine. I got up to follow the messenger, but a hand gripped my arm firmly.

"Where do you think you are going?" Thranduil demanded.

"To follow my friends," I said. "I told you. You cannot keep them here."

"Perhaps not, but I can keep you." The Elven King thrust me at his son. "Lock her up, then bring back the dwarves."

I felt all the blood leave my face. "No," I said breathlessly, though I stood still as stone while Elven guards secured me on either side. "No. You don't understand what you're doing."

Thranduil was halfway down the stairs leading from the dais. He turned. "Don't I? Do you, a child daughter of Men, seek to teach me, an Elven king of the ancient world, _wisdom_? This is my land. These are my people. I will protect them as I see fit, and I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield's quest will be completed in their better interest. If you are truly here to aid him, than you are a threat to us as well. If I cannot hinder Thorin by keeping him here, I can hinder him by keeping _you_. Take her away."

I was hardly aware of the guards' hands tightening, of their feet moving. Mine certainly didn't. In the distance, I seemed to hear, or sense, a river, and with it flowed my dwarves and my destiny. My innermost self reached out to it even as my feet dragged on the cold tiles.


	9. Firelight

"The streams shall run in gladness,  
The lakes shall shine and burn,  
All sorrow fail and sadness  
At the Mountain-king's return!"

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 9: Firelight

I don't know how I slept, but I did. Legolas brought me word of the dwarves' escape downriver, and that at least brought me some comfort. But the nervousness that had begun in Rivendell was now knocking at all corners of my mind, and while I did not know _what_ exactly, I knew something horrible was about to happen.

I tried to tell this to Thranduil, but he would have none of it. "Men will always prophecy doom when it suits them," he said.

So a night passed, and I slept fitfully. My dreams were of my nephew and nieces. They stood too close to the kitchen fire, and it burnt them. I woke sweaty and weeping.

Another day passed, and my anxiety grew. I was certain now that it was not just my imagination. I was not_ choosing_ to feel this way. Somehow I knew, I _knew_ this was bad. I knew that if I didn't do something, it would all go horribly wrong, and we would lose. We would lose, and the world would be forever changed because of it. I felt it in my bones the way birds and small animals know a storm is coming.

I just had no way of explaining this to King Thranduil.

Two nights after the dwarves escaped and three after we had come to the Elven King's realm, the air felt heavy. There was a stillness, an expectation. I felt it in my chamber. I spent an hour throwing myself at the door. No one came, and the door didn't move. Finally, I collapsed against it, too spent even to weep.

The tension grew. My fingers twitched.

Then the earth shook.

I rose to my feet.

Thranduil came.

"I believe," he said, with the air of someone who does not believe, but knows, "the dragon has awakened."

"Yes," I said.

"You knew this would happen," he continued. "Yet you said nothing."

"It is not my place to tell you the future," I explained, because of course it wasn't. "Only to correct it."

Thranduil looked away. "My son is in Laketown. He followed a pack of orcs. The same that attacked your friends on the river."

_Orcs_. My mind raced. "The orcs shouldn't be there any more than your son should," I said quickly. "This is what I was telling you about. Smaug will go to Laketown."

Thranduil turned back to me. "Can you save him?"

"That's up to you."

Ten minutes later I was on a horse, my sword sheathed at my side. It was snowing. I was still wearing the absurd dress they had given me at the feast, and slippers, but there wasn't time to change.

Thranduil gazed up at me with all the emotion of a father and an Elf. "This horse will bear you faster than any other. Let him guide you at will, and he will take you to the bridges."

I nodded.

"Go with all the blessings of Elves and Men and all other good folk," said the Elven King. "Bring my son back to me alive."

"I promise you, I will do all I can to keep him safe," I said, then I turned the horse and held on for dear life, for he did not wait for me, he just sped away.

The journey from Mirkwood passed in a blur. We left the forest, skirted around the lake, and then we were on a bridge. On either side of me, the lake was tinted with moonlight. Ahead I could see the lights of Laketown. Despite our speed, I felt that all about me was still. There were no birds, no wildlife, no ripple of fish. Even the air we passed through felt warm. The snowflakes that landed on us seared like small flames.

It seemed only moments, it seemed an eternity, until we passed into the town. It was as quiet as the lake, yet the ground quivered through the horse's hooves. I did not slow the beast until we had reached the town square, a dock-like platform before the grandest of the dilapidated buildings.

I pulled tight on the reigns, and the horse halted abruptly. The earth shook again, and the horse neighed and reared up. I hushed him, then assessed the situation. What few folk were about appeared confused and uncertain and eyed me with suspicion.

_Where is everybody?_

I opened my mouth to speak, but the ground shook again, harder this time. I looked to the mountain, and there was fire coming out of it. Then the fire was in the air. It was spinning, trailing, growing slowly, but undoubtedly larger.

"DRAGON!" someone shouted, and my attention returned to the townsfolk. "DRAGON!"

There were screams and general panic. My horse pawed the ground uneasily, picking up on the unrest about him. I calmed him again, then shouted, "Yes, dragon! The dragon is coming! You must be ready! Where is Bard?"

No one answered. They stared up at me, confused and frightened.

And I realized how I must look to them: a stranger, on horseback, in a town of boats. My dress was from the woodland realm and suited neither for the snow nor the impending disaster. My hair was windblown, and I was wearing slippers.

_Oh, well._

"Bard?" I asked again, loudly, "Where is Bard the Bowman?" I hoped my voice was projecting as much authority as I felt.

"My father has been imprisoned," said a young voice below me. I looked down to find a boy, just recently a teenager, and he looked up at me with as much fear and more boldness than the others.

"_**WHAT?**_" I squawked.

"That bargeman has been nothing but trouble." I reared the horse around to face a gouty man on the stairs. "I put him away where he could sow no more dissent."

"Dissent? _Are you kidding me_? Who are you?"

"I am the Master of Laketown. Who are _you_?"

Instead of answering him directly, I turned back around to face the boy. I racked my stretched and strained memory, came up with a name. "Bain," I said. "Your name is Bain."

"Yes," he said in shock.

I searched the skies again. The glow was getting fiercer, closer.

_Where is that damn bird?_

And then I knew. I knew with the certainty that had been bleeding from me since I had left Rivendell. _I _was the bird. I was the missing bit, the gear that would set all the rest winding in the right direction again.

"Where are the prisons?"

Bard's son pointed beyond the Master's hall to a row of low shacks at the opposite end of the town from the bridge. "Lady?" Bain's small hand reached tentatively towards my horse. "There's more. I don't know…"

"Tell me," I said quickly. "I'm here to help. I can help your father."

"Then I'll get it for you," Bain said, and ran off.

Whatever "it" was, there wasn't a doubt in my mind it was worth the wait. I turned my horse in a circle, looking up and about me.

"Listen to me!" I shouted. "I am Scilla, the Seer of Rivendell. The dragon is coming! There is nowhere to run! There is nowhere to hide! Your only chance is to fight. You must take up arms! Cut the bridges!"

"We have no weapons!" shouted a man. "The Master has them under lock and key."

When I whirled again to face the Master, it was with all the fury I had ever felt in my life. "You fool," I said coldly. "Arm them. And pray they defend you."

"I will not…"

"_ARM THEM!_" I shouted, and then it seemed the Master's word did not matter, for a guard had appeared with bows and spears and swords.

On the guard's heals was Bain, and he was carrying a spear – no, an arrow, an enormous arrow – in one hand. He held it up to me, and I accepted it gingerly, suddenly aware I was holding in my hand a legendary weapon.

"A black arrow," Bain explained unnecessarily. "The last one. Father had it hidden in our kitchen."

I turned back to the Master. "I hope you burn." And then I kicked the horse, and we were gone in the direction Bain had pointed us in.

In such a small town, the ramshackle prison was not far. I dumped myself to the ground, then ran past the few guards into the narrow walkway that ran along the front of the cells.

"Bard!" I called. "I'm looking for Bard!"

"Here!" a voice called back. I raced towards it.

A sniveling, snotty man stood before the cell door, twirling a ring of keys on his finger. "Who are you? This man is a lawful prisoner of the Master, and-"

"Oh, shut up," I said, reaching the cell. I stopped dead in my tracks "_Bard_? You're Bard? _You're_ Bard?!"

"Yes, who are you?" said the man inside.

"Of all the things I wasn't expecting," I muttered to myself. Then, to the bowman, "I'll explain later. You have a dragon to kill."

The snotty man sputtered. "_Bard?_ Kill a dragon? You must be mad. Smaug the Terrible has slept for generations."

My patience was now spent. I bore down on the man. "You stupid, stupid man. That dragon _is_ coming. He will be here any moment, and this man" - I pointed at Bard – "is all that stands between this town and destruction. Now give me the keys so I can let him out, or _we are all going to die_."

The man didn't budge. "These keys?" he asked calmly. "So he can what, finish what his ancestor Girion started? I suppose you're trying to tell me that old legend is true."

I shook my head violently. "What old legend?"

"That Girion hit the dragon. That he knocked loose a scale, and Smaug has a weak spot now."

"I don't know anything about Girion-" I began.

"What _do_ you know?" demanded Bard.

I looked at him. "I know there's a patch in the hollow of Smaug's left breast as bare as a snail out of its shell."

His face hardened. "Get me out of here."

I nodded and elbowed the snotty man in the face. He went down with a muffled cry, and I snatched the keys from his greasy fingers.

As I worked at the lock, Bard asked again, "Who are you?"

"I'll explain when this is over," I promised, as the lock clicked out of place. I swung the door wide. "Let's go."

Bard bolted out of his cell and ran ahead. His legs were longer and faster than mine, and I struggled to catch up. Outside of the cell, I snagged the back of his shirt to pull him to a halt.

I held up the black arrow. "Where can you fire this thing from?"

"How…?"

"Later. Where do we need to go?"

"The Master's tower. There's a windlance at the top." He grabbed my hand and stepped as if to run again, but I held him back.

I shook my head. "Horse. Else we'll never get there in time."

He looked at the beast uncertainly. "I don't ride."

"I do. Hold on tight."

Thranduil had outfitted the horse with a second sword, a bow, and a full quiver. Bard grabbed the last two, and when we were secure, I kicked at the horse, and he took off at full speed.

A good thing too, because that's when the dragon came.

He came with a burst of fire, a graceful fumbling of wings and smoke and destruction. There was screaming around me, and parts of the world were now ablaze. There was nothing but flame and fear and turmoil.

Yet I felt none of it. As I guided the horse over the difficult planking, around the townsfolk and through the smoke, an uncanny calm settled over me. I realized, with the shock of one not really paying much attention to her own emotions, that I had found my balance. It wasn't that I knew where to put my feet, it was that I knew, for the first time since coming to Middle Earth, where to put _myself_.

Behind me, Bard's hands were clasped tightly about my waist. Thranduil's bow, also in his hand, was digging into my side. I held the black arrow myself, of the two of us the steadier on horseback. We paid little attention to the scattered townsfolk, or the orcs, who seemed little less frightened than the humans.

At last we reached the Master's hall, and Bard scrambled off the horse ahead of me. I vaguely noted the Master himself still on the steps. I hoped the men had rallied and were preparing what defenses they had. There couldn't have been much.

Bard made not for the hall, but for a set of buildings close to it. At the back of one was a rickety ladder, and this we climbed to the top. The roof was slate and slanted and slippery, and my Elven slippers had no grip. I still held the black arrow in my left hand. With my right I drew the sword Gandalf had given me back in Rivendell. Bard fitted an arrow to his bow, and Smaug descended on us.

Bard fired. It had no effect, of course, but it caught Smaug's attention, and as he turned in the sky for another pass at the two small humans foolish enough to challenge him from a rooftop, he drew the orcs up from below.

We were running then, and I suddenly had a task. Ahead of me, Bard let arrow after arrow fly at Smaug. We ran and ducked and cringed inwardly and outwardly as fire came at us. But we were faster than the fire, and Smaug seemed to have difficulty breathing it at this angle. I had my own task. As the orcs came at us, I knocked them from the roof one by one. They were steadier on the slate than I, and my feet slipped and skidded, and I thought that I would fall. But not until Bard killed the dragon. I had to stay on the roof until then.

Smaug's fury filled the sky above us, he spun away, then back in, and something about that seemed to recharge him. Bard sensed the danger before me, and reached back to grab my arm before throwing us both across the space between this building and the Master's house. We landed awkwardly, and I nearly fell right off again. My sword fell as I reached to grab hold of a shingle, and I was weaponless, save for the black arrow, which of course wasn't mine. Behind us, the orcs were burnt to a crisp.

Bard pulled me up, steadied me, then traded his bow for the black arrow. In front of us was a contraption like two crossbows set opposite each other. It was this that Bard set the arrow to. He drew the arrow back, muscles straining, and looked up to find his target. His face froze in horror, and with a dread that slipped down my spine like ice in the burning air, I turned to find Smaug hovering in the air before us.

"So you think to challenge me? You who are a lesser son of lesser men? Your forefathers could not defeat me in their greatness, and that greatness has not survived the generations to be passed down to _you_. Take your children and flee, Bargeman, or watch them burn."

Bard didn't flinch, didn't respond at all. Instead he studied Smaug, surveyed his chest area. I hoped he'd find what he was looking for quickly.

Fortunately, this dragon liked to talk. "Daughter of the Latter Ages," he purred, and I realized he was speaking to me. "Why waste your time trying to save this town of filth and ruin? There is no hope for you here, no happy ending, only sorrow."

I didn't ask how Smaug knew who I was. I only looked at Bard. "You can do this," I said, and he nodded.

"Perhaps you can," the dragon admitted. "But even so, even if she is right, you will not come out unscathed. And you, Daughter, I promise you, if you remain, you will live, but your heart will break into a thousand pieces, and you will know sorrow incomparable. But it need not end that way. I can give you what you want. _I can send you home_."

"Smaug," I said. "Go fuck yourself."

The dragon roared, he reared up, and I saw his chest light with coming obliteration. I dropped the bow and ran, the fire surrounding me, ran right off the edge of the roof. For a moment my feet scrambled in midair, and then I plunged in a cloud of fire and smoke into the depths of the lake.


	10. Loose Ends

"And that was the end of Smaug and Esgaroth, but not of Bard."

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 10: Loose Ends

I came to coughing water and smoke. My throat and lungs were burning. It was several long moments before I could see clearly. Bard's face was hovering above me.

"Dragon?" I wheezed.

Bard looked up and over his shoulder, and with a grunt, I lifted myself onto my elbows. All around us, Laketown glowed orange. Before me, off the dock, the lake boiled, hissing and sizzling as it settled. The waves rolled, but they were calming. There was no sign of the dragon.

"You…you did it. You did it!" Sitting up fully and suddenly, I seized Bard's face with both hands and kissed him on the mouth. He gasped against my lips.

"Sorry," I breathed, breaking away.

Bard touched his fingers to his lips. "It's alright. It's not the worst thing to happen to me today."

I laughed, giddy with victory. "We should go. We should find your boy, your…children, I think Smaug said?"

Bard nodded. "There are also two girls. I hope…"

I grasped his hand tightly. "I'm sure they're alright."

He did not answer, but I knew by his face my word was not enough, and would not be enough for any father.

I scrambled awkwardly to my feet. My clothing was soaked, and in the absence of the dragon, the air was cooling rapidly. Seeing me shiver, Bard moved to remove his coat, an instinctive move, for of course that was dripping as well.

I lifted a hand to stop him. "I don't think that will do any good."

He laughed softly and settled the wet fur back around his shoulders. I grinned up at him.

"Let's just go. I have a certain Elvish prince to check up on, and the townsfolk will be wondering what happened. All hail King Bard!"

"'King' Bard?"

"Give it a minute."

Laketown was more or less gone. Or at least, the top third of it was. But most of the people had escaped, and the advantage of everyone having boats was that everyone had somewhere to go during a mass fire.

In the end the boats had moored on the western shore. It was some time before Bard and I found a remaining boat to take us there. By then it was morning, and the crowd was busy berating the Master and praising Bard. At the center of the gathering stood Bain and two girls, one older and one younger than he. Alone of all the multitude, these three were silent, their eyes searching the shores.

"Bard the Dragon-shooter of the line of Girion!" someone was saying loudly. "Alas that he is lost!"

"Bard is not lost!" his voice barked beside me. The crowd stilled, save for the three children. They rushed their father, who swept them up in his arms, conscious of little else.

With Bard occupied, I felt someone needed to explain the situation. "He dived from Esgaroth, when the enemy was slain. He is the slayer of the dragon!"

The crowd roared. They stamped and boomed and shouted. The snow was forgotten. The smoking town also. "King Bard! King Bard!" And Bard looked at me, knowing I had been right yet again.

The Master's protestations aside, Bard was king, or at least acting _leader_, of the remnants of Laketown, though he did everything in the Master's name. There was a great deal to do that day, and with nothing better in mind, I followed Bard, and echoed his plans and helped where I could. There were sick and injured to be tended to, and a camp to be built with limited supplies, and it was still snowing.

Among the refuges I found Kili, Fili, Bofur, and Oin. Fili was pale with fear of a drawn out and personal sort, and Kili was pale with an illness that was no doubt the cause of the former. Tauriel was with them, and from her I learned that Kili had been the victim of a weapon of Morgul.

"And how many of those are there exactly?" I asked, having known of one – or at most nine – myself, and wondering how an orc came to be trusted with something with such undeadly consequences. Tauriel did not have answers to any of my questions.

When Bard proposed sending a message to Thranduil asking for help, Tauriel volunteered to go with them.

"Where is Legolas?" I asked her.

"I do not know," she said softly, worriedly. Then her eyes narrowed. "How did you come to be here? When I left the forest, you were confined to your chamber."

Beside us, Bard's eyes were assessing.

"I promised King Thranduil if he left me go, I would see that Legolas was safe," I explained.

"They say you are a seer," Tauriel said.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," I said. "Find Legolas. And when you go before Thranduil, tell him I have kept my promises. If it means anything, I ask help for the people of Laketown. They will need it."

"And for yourself?" Tauriel asked shrewdly.

I looked away. "My fate is, and always has been, in the hands of others. If they cannot do anything for me, neither can Thranduil."

She left, along with men that Bard chose. In the midst of the confusion, tents had been erected and packed with people, and one was given to the dwarves. I followed Bard to his own tent, cleverly split into two sections. In the back, the girls had managed to set up a bath.

The girls and I bathed first. We had only an overlarge barrel, but that was more than welcome. As we sat soaking, hoping the water alone was enough, for there was no soap, the girls eyed me warily.

"Where did you learn to fight?" the younger asked.

"From the dwarves," I answered.

"The dwarves said you wear men's gear and travel as they do. Is there no man to travel for you?"

I answered, "I've learned when there's anything to be done, to do it myself. So yes, I wear men's gear. It's a lot easier to cross mountains in."

"We have never needed to do anything like that," said the older girl. "Our father has always taken care of us."

I smiled at her in what I hoped was an encouraging manner. "Then you have a good father."

The girls went to sleep after that, exhausted from the night's adventures, and Bard and Bain took our place in the bathing room. I wrapped myself in a great fur robe. The woman who brought it to me also offered to clean my gown, but I stopped her.

"Burn it, or keep it yourself," I said. "It's impractical. I will take men's clothes, if any can be found."

She looked at me strangely, but nodded, and I never saw that dress again. I wandered in my furs to the front chamber, where the girls slept quietly in a corner. The floor was littered with furs and blankets and tapestries, for Bard deserved the best, after his victory. I hoped none of the other refuges were suffering for it. Everyone should be warm that night.

I found a particularly thick fur and lay flat upon it. I closed my eyes, feeling more luxurious than I had since Rivendell. Even Thranduil's hall could not compare to this. Given the option, I would have taken a hall and a hearth and this fur. And whiskey. Oh, how I missed whiskey.

There was a cough above me, and I opened one eye to peer up at Bard, who was wrapped in clean garments of his own.

"Do you require clothes?" he asked hospitably. "I can ask one of the women…"

I shook my head. "I already did. And don't trouble yourself. I'm more comfortable and happy than I've been in weeks."

"Wine?" he asked, raising a pitcher.

I stood slowly, holding the robe around me modestly. "You're right. That would make this better."

I accepted a goblet, and we settled down on the furs together.

"Now," said Bard after a couple of companionable sips, "you promised to tell me who you are."

I stared at my wine for a moment, admiring the color. "My name is Scilla, as the Elves or the townsfolk or even the dwarves may have told you already."

"They said you are a seer…" Bard prompted.

"Yes… no," I said. "I…It is difficult to explain."

"I have followed you through fire and water," said Bard. "The least you can do is trust me in return."

I looked at him over my wine, and it was painful. I took a sip. "I'm from…the future. The future of Middle Earth, or what Middle Earth will become, I suppose. I don't know how I came here. I don't know why. I do know that since I arrived, everything has been…different. I have known this tale, known of _you_, known you would kill the dragon, all my life, as many people do in my time. You are a hero, a legend. Everything that has happened was supposed to happen…but I have had to step in to make it happen in the way I have known it would."

Bard was silent.

"I am sorry," I said. "I realize that must sound incredibly arrogant, not to mention confusing, but please know that I did not _choose_ to be here, and I don't regret any of my actions since coming. My only goal, other than to preserve the history that I have known, has been to return to my home."

It was many long, tense moments before Bard spoke. "I do not understand all of these things, but I know you have not led me astray, and I have no reason to think ill of you."

All at once it hit me. Perhaps because I was relatively warm, perhaps because I was full of wine, but I was suddenly overwhelmed by the past few days, and I very nearly wept into my goblet.

Bard reached out one hand very carefully and grasped my shoulder. "Thank you."

I looked up at him through my tears. "My former life, you must understand, was not that exciting."

He squeezed my shoulder.

I sniveled. "Give me something to do. I can't think about it. There must be something you need done."

Bard shrugged. "We need a new home."

"What about Dale?" I said.

Bard stood, drawing me with him. "Dale?"

"Well, forgive me. I'm new to the area, but it seems to me more of Dale than Laketown will have survived the dragon fire. Some of it was stone, was it not?"

Bard drew out a map, and we poured over it together. We poured over it long into the night. We looked at all the places in the region where he could rebuild the town, and it was late before the wine and the night's tasks finally put us to sleep. I remember pulling another fur about me, and then I was gone.


	11. The Gathering of Winter

_The road goes ever on and on,_

_Through the wild and whirling snow._

_And though far down the road I've gone,_

_What lies ahead, I do not know._

_Perhaps a mountain dark and tall,_

_Or sunlit meadows flecked with green,_

_A place where armies fight and fall,_

_Or greater beauty than I've seen._

Chapter 11: The Gathering of Winter

I woke to the sound of Sigrid shaking out blankets. Light peaked through the crack that was the entrance to our tent, illuminating the dust that rose as she beat the fabric in the air. Blearily, I raised myself into a sitting position.

Seeing me, she set down the blanket she was holding. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," I said, rubbing my eyes. "What time is it?"

"The sun has been up two hours," she told me. "My father was up before then. Tilda and Bain are still sleeping."

"Smart of them," I muttered, rising. Placing my hands on the small of my back, I stretched backwards. I wondered if I would have been any less stiff had I slept on the pseudo-bed laid out for me in the sleeping room.

"My father brought these for you." Sigrid held up a bundle. "They are old clothes of his that Bain is still too small to wear. He left early to get them from…from what's left of our home."

I accepted the bundle with a frown. The girl was tougher than she looked, but something in her face was wobbling. I set the clothing down so I would have both hands free, took hers, and squeezed.

"It's going to be alright, in the end," I said. "Better than, actually, for you anyway."

"Father said you are a seer." Sigrid took a deep breath to cover up a sniffle.

I nodded. "I should probably find your father…or at least someone who knows what's going on around here."

Sigrid guarded the entrance to the tent while I changed. Bard's old clothes were loose and worn, but comfortable. They must have been from when he was much younger. Sigrid then helped me comb through my wretched hair and braid it. It occurred to me that it was very nice, after so much time with Elves and dwarves and bowmen, to be with a human woman who understood about practical things like hair.

When I was decent, I left Sigrid in the tent to watch her brother and sister. Outside, the sun was very bright and the air was chill. It was an excellent November day, but as I took in the ramshackle camp I knew many more such days would not go pleasantly for the refugees of Laketown. We would need to find better shelter, and soon.

In a straight line from the front of Bard's tent was a large bonfire, and huddled around it I found both my dwarves and my breakfast.

Seeing me approach, Bofur lumbered swiftly to his feet and, to my astonishment, threw his arms about my waist. Awkwardly, I hugged him back.

"It's nice to see a friendly face," Fili explained as I sat down. "Most of these men seem to think this is all our fault."

"Well, they're not entirely wrong," I chided. Before an argument could ensue, I looked at Kili. "How are you? What happened? Why did Thorin leave you four behind?"

"He was afraid I would slow him down," Kili said with a hint of bitterness. "He didn't want to risk missing the last light of Durin's Day."

"Fili and I stayed to look after him," said Oin.

I looked at Bofur.

"I was hungover," he said.

Absurdly, I laughed. It was the full, tearful belly laugh of the over-tired. Seeing them through my watery eyes, I realized I had missed the dwarves. My companionship with them had been uncomfortable as best, but they had a certain artless charm.

"Where were you last night?" Fili asked. "You could have stayed with us."

"I was with the bowman, Bard, and his family," I said when I could speak again. "I had some explaining to do. Turns out when you free a man from prison claiming he's destined to kill a dragon, he later wants to know how you knew about it."

"You'll be giving a lot more explanations before you're through, I expect," said Bofur.

"Actually, I hope I'm done," I said. "I hope that was the last inconsistency. After we get you lot back to Thorin, that is."

The dwarves stared at me. "Thorin is _alive_?"

I flinched. "Ah…Best not to mention that to anyone just yet. It won't go over well."

With cautious glances over their shoulders, the dwarves huddled closer together.

"We need to rejoin him," said Fili.

"When Kili is better," I said. "When the Elves come, they will be occupied with their plans and negotiations. That will probably be your best chance."

"Won't we factor into those negotiations?" asked Bofur.

"Maybe," I admitted, "but probably not much. I doubt they think the four of you can do any harm yourselves." I eyed Kili. "It might help if they think you're worse off than you actually are."

He nodded. "I can play it up a bit, then. But that will only work until Tauriel comes back."

"Then you'll need to be gone before she has a chance to see you."

When I'd finished breakfast, I checked in on Sigrid. Bain and Tilda were now up, and while all three were worried about their father, they had no intention of being anywhere beyond the immediate vicinity. I ducked out again to fetch them some eggs and sausage, then went in search of Bard myself.

I found him with the Master and the greasy man I had met in the prison. His nose was now turned to the side and crusted with blood, and he glared at me from beneath thick brows.

"This is the Lady Scilla," Bard said as I approached.

"So I've heard," said the Master distastefully. The snot-nosed man – whom I learned was named Alfrid - sneered and said, "'Lady?'"

"Would you like me to bend your nose back for you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Bard's lips twitched.

Bard's business with them was apparently done, and we moved on. "What can I do?" I asked.

He looked over at me. "I should like to know what to expect next."

The air was growing colder and the snow thicker. I gathered my fur-lined cloak around me. "Winter," I said. "You'll want to better shelter these people, as I suspect you already know. Give me a hammer, and I will help." I looked back at him. "I will not tell you the future."

Bard sighed. "I would tell you my plans, but I suspect you already know of them."

"I do," I confessed. "Wait until you hear from Thranduil. He can help you, but I suspect you already know that as well."

He smiled, but only for a moment. "It has taken me all morning to get an accurate count. We have lost a third of our people, mostly men. I would have the women and orphans sheltered first…How are my children?"

"Warm, comfortable, and fed," I answered. "The dwarves are not far. I suspect Fili and Kili can keep them entertained for the day. As for your widows and orphans...What can we use from the town?"

"The lower buildings and sheds are still intact."

I spend the day building. Bard gave me the requested hammer and introduced me to the surviving carpenters, and by nightfall we had hauled enough lumber from the remnants of Laketown to build three large shacks. They were not the picture of luxury, but when the insides were lined with fur and blankets, they kept out the wind. The widows, the orphans, and the elderly went in these. The next day we would look into smaller such structures for the families that remained whole. In the meantime, everyone at least had a place that they could temporarily call home.

Even me. Bard came to fetch me at dusk, and together we collected his children and stoked the bonfire to have dinner with the dwarves. I tried to help Sigrid cook, but she pushed me away, saying I had done enough for one day. I would have argued, but there were so many more days to go…

We leaned back on our palms, full of simple fare, and Kili glanced over at me with a grin.

"Look at you," he said, "All domesticated. Building huts and making meals. Far cry from the girl rescuing us from goblins in the mountains."

"I was always domesticated." I yawned. "Back home, nothing was ever more important to me than family."

"Do you have a husband then?" Sigrid asked suddenly. "Children?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bard eyeing her sharply. "No," I answered quickly, my heart stepping up a pace. "But that is not uncommon. We marry much older than you do here."

"Oh," said Sigrid. "Do you wish you did?"

"Sometimes," I said honestly. "But I love my sister and her family, and that has been enough for me."

I had been too occupied over the last few days to be homesick, but I was now. Next to me, Fili set his hand on mine.

"Family takes many forms and meanings," he said, "not just the domestic ones."

I squeezed his hand back.

"I wonder if it's possible to form new sorts of families," Kili mused. The other dwarves groaned.

"Kili," said his brother, "give it a rest."

"She's twice your size, lad!" said Bofur.

"She stayed behind to save me," said Kili. "That means something!"

"You mean the Elf maid, Tauriel?" said Tilda, eyes wide.

Now that we were caught up, the rest of us were laughing.

"Even I have the good sense not to tangle with the Elven-folk," said Bard, his usually grim eyes shining.

The following days passed much as that one, until word came that the Elves were coming and were, in fact, only a day out.

I waited until my absence would not be noticed, then found Fili.

"It's tonight, or never," I told him.

"Think you could distract the bargeman?" he asked, eyes shining.

"Don't tempt me," I muttered, before realizing how foolish it was to say such a thing aloud. "Just go when Thranduil gets here, no sooner or later. Make for the mountain. Make for the main gate. Smaug will have come out there, and the hidden door is now closed."

The Elves arrived at dusk. I waited with Bard and his children, Tilda clasping my hand tightly. I wondered when I had become a fixture in her family. I wondered if Thranduil would be offended that I had given away the gown he had so graciously given me. I wondered where my dwarves were.

After the stiff sort of greeting that would have been ceremonial had we not been standing in a refugee camp, Thranduil and Bard left – with the Master for appearance's sake – to discuss the situation. I had no worries about the negotiations. Thranduil was not so heartless as to deny the folk of Laketown aid, and both parties had something to benefit from Bard's plan to march on the mountain. At least, they had something to benefit if Thorin was as dead as they believed.

Which, of course, he wasn't.


	12. Divided Allegiances

"It passed the Lonely Mountain bare,  
And swept above the dragon's lair:  
There black and dark lay boulders stark,  
And flying smoke was in the air."

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 12: Divided Allegiances

After finding a wineskin – the one thing it seemed we weren't running short of, thank God and the Valar – I parked myself before the bonfire to wait out the negotiations.

The dwarves had gone just before the Elves had arrived, while the refugees were still bustling through the few preparations they could make. I hoped everyone would stay distracted long enough for them to get a good head start. Kili was far better than was to be expected, but did not have all of himself back. I knew enough of Morgul blades to suspect he never would, even given the chance.

It was with that thought that I excused myself after the initial formal greetings. Thranduil was all gratitude, as Legolas had made it back to him even before Tauriel. With his people safe, the Elven King was ready to be generous. He made no demands of Bard concerning my return to the Woodland Realm, and I only had to repeat my bit about help for the Laketown refugees before excusing myself.

It was the first time I had allowed myself to fully contemplate the ending to the story I was living. As all my friends and companions were otherwise occupied, there was no one but the bonfire to observe my distress. I corked the wineskin and set it down. The knowledge I was now allowing myself was too much to bear, and yet that was exactly what I would do.

I put my face in my hands, yet found I could not cry. Instead I stayed like that long moments, until I felt a stirring beside me and lifted my dry face to see who had come to witness my unshed sorrow.

It was Bard. Of course it was Bard. He lifted the wineskin and filled a goblet, handed it to me, then poured a second for himself.

"The dwarves have gone," he said. "But then you already know that."

I said nothing.

"Did you help them? Or did you only know they were going?"

"Does it matter?" I asked. "Had you promised to return them as prizes to King Thranduil?"

"No," said Bard, after a beat. "But I liked knowing where they were."

I waved a hand idly. "You still do. If you were in their place, and it was _your_ kinsman, where would you go?"

"To bury him," said Bard.

We drank then in the closest thing to an awkward silence we had yet endured. I wondered at how comfortable I had become with Bard, with his family, and how quickly. It was not a camaraderie I enjoyed with the dwarves. Perhaps it was because he was human. Perhaps it was because we had come out of the fire together.

Hadn't he said as much himself?

Suddenly it was very important that he still trust me. "I didn't…I haven't…I _wouldn't _do anything to put your or your family in danger," I said. "I let the dwarves go, yes, helped them even, but not at your expense."

After a time – which I endured like ants beneath my tunic – he said, "I believe you."

The next morning we were building again, but with the help of the Elves we were able to raise many more structures, and over the course of the coming days we created a kind of village, temporary though it was. It would house the remaining folk of Laketown for the winter, until they could make decisions about where and how and under whose direction to rebuild. In the meantime, Bard's attention turned to the mountain.

"We can spare the men now," he told me by firelight, "and I have already asked those I want. The dragon's treasure is unguarded. The Elves will go with us and take what they need as well, and more, as payment for their aid. The Master doesn't like it much, but Thranduil deserves some reward for all of his help."

"He is not such a bad king when the pressure is really on," I commented to my wine goblet. I took a sip. "I would like to go with you."

Bard looked at me sharply. "Something is to happen there."

"Don't ask me about it."

"I won't. But you should know I was going to ask you to come anyway."

We marched the following morning. I hugged Tilda and Sigrid tightly before I left, with a smile and an assurance that their father would return. I gave no such assurances about myself, because I had none, and they didn't ask for any. Bain, as temporary man of the house, was left in charge – or at least in shared charge with Sigrid. We would be gone awhile, but it seemed the children were used to that.

The air was chilling, and under different circumstances I would have been looking forward to cocoa and tinsel, but there were no such celebrations in Middle Earth, and as I was living with the surviving population of a Dickens novel, any attempt to start a celebration would have been disrespectful.

We camped in Dale, officially as a strategic vantage point, unofficially so Bard could assess it as a prospective settlement. Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel, Bard, and I were pouring over old maps of the region in the large tent set up for council when the scouts returned to report that Thorin and at least some of the dwarves were alive.

Bard thanked the man and dismissed him, then turned to me. "You understand what I want to ask."

"Yep," I said, choosing to look at the map instead. "Why do you think I sent his nephews off to rejoin him?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Tauriel, and Thranduil said, "Was this, then, one of the mistakes you came here to correct?"

I nodded. "A minor one, I believe, but then those usually prove to be the worst." I looked at all of them. "I won't lie to you. This is about to get ugly."

"And then?" asked Legolas.

"Do not ask her that," said Thranduil. "It is not her province. She gives such advice as she is able."

I let go the end of the map I was holding, and it rolled up with a snap. "Look, if I'm honest, I wish Gandalf were here with a little perspective, because I'm getting tired of everyone looking at me like they think I'm causing every little thing to happen, or they'll make the wrong choice if they don't consult me first. Just…do your thing. I have other things to worry about. Like how angry Thorin is going to be when he sees me with all of you."

Cleaner after real baths and wrapped in furs and leathers from the Elves, the company that came to the mountain was much grander than I had expected. Perhaps that did not work in our favor, but I suspected that even had we looked the beggars we were, Thorin would have remained unmoved.

And as I had also suspected, my presence did nothing to soften him up.

"Have you not already taken enough from me in the form of my friends and kinsmen, whom you held captive?" he shouted from his grandiose place on the mountainside.

I rolled my eyes. "Oakenshield!" I shouted. "You _left_ them behind! You're lucky they didn't die in the fire!_ I_ sent them back to you! And you left me behind too!"

It was of course useless to argue with someone drunk on dragon treasure, but even I have my breaking point, and Fili and Kili weren't speaking up for me. I remembered my thought in the Elven Realm, that Thorin saw me as little more than a different kind of treasure, the strategic kind, and though I knew he was not right in the head, and I was not his to despise, the accusation still stung.

I missed Bilbo, suddenly feeling he was the only other sane person in all the Eastern lands.

What followed then was the most boring siege I have ever seen, heard of, or read about. It was a glorified camping expedition, an exercise for the stubborn and unyielding. After two days, I had even had enough of Bard, and spent most of my time volunteering for unnecessary patrols, which really meant I wandered all about the mountainside, hoping Thorin wouldn't shoot me.

He didn't, but I hardly felt better.

Just at dusk on day five, I wandered back into camp, stumbling a bit, both from tedium and exhaustion. Had I really been on patrol, I would have been worthless. My feet hurt in spite of all the hours I now spent on them, and true winter was close. I was now freezing, as well as bored. As I passed by Bard's tent, a hand shot out and yanked me within.

"Are you alright?" he asked, when I had recovered my balance.

"Confused," I said, looking up at him. "Was that necessary?"

"Perhaps not, but it seemed the quickest way to get your attention. Wine?"

I shrugged, following him deeper into the tent and rubbing my arm where he had seized it.

Bard passed me a goblet. This was beginning to feel like a routine. "Where have you been?"

I settled into a chair draped in furs and pulled them around me. The wine was room temperature, which was to say, _cold_. I was racking my brain for my family's mulled wine recipe, wondering if anyone in the camp would have the spices, when I realized Bard was staring at me, face drawn together in something I didn't know how to interpret.

"Are you alright?" he said again.

"I'm cold," I said honestly. "The clothing in Middle Earth is grossly inadequate for its weather. My home can be cold too, but we dress for it. I'm also tired of this pointless siege, and I really want to knock all your heads together until you see sense."

Bard was quiet a moment, then, "Our claim is a good one, and my folk will be desperate when winter comes. With Oakenshield's aid-"

I waved my hand in front of him. "I'm not disputing any of that. I'm just saying that if you set three boulders next to each other in a snowstorm, they're still not going to move. Not unless it's a really big snowstorm."

"Don't you _know_ what's going to happen next?"

I sighed and ruffled my own hair. Part of the reason I had been avoiding everyone lately was this very topic. "Yes, but I'm tired of waiting for it to happen. I want this all to end so I can go home."

"And so it shall, and so shall you," said a gruff voice from behind me. Bard looked up, and I turned, and there was Gandalf.

"Bard, is it?" said the wizard, coming fully into the tent. Thranduil, Legolas, and Tauriel were with him. "And Lady Scilla! You are looking well, all things considered. I hear you fought a dragon on a rooftop."

"Actually, I jumped off a rooftop into a lake to get away from a dragon." Bard was now standing, but I had remained in my seat, tired of ceremony.

"Indeed! Well, I hope your adventures have not put you off a few more. In the meantime, you may be glad of this." Gandalf produced a black bundle from somewhere on his person. "A gift from the Lady Galadriel."

The object was so out of place that I did not recognize it at first. Then, "My coat!" I shrieked, flying from my chair. It was my own coat, my black, L.L. Bean, made for negative twenty degrees, winter coat that I had bought for the purpose of shoveling during snowstorms. I shoved my arms into its sleeves, zipped it up, and situated my hands in the pockets. Then I sank back into my chair with a sigh.

A moment later, my eyes shot open, and five figures were regarding me with curiosity and amusement. I looked at Gandalf. "This…this is _my coat_. From _my home_. And I did not bring it with me. It was summer when I left."

Gandalf's eyes crinkled bemusedly. "So it is."

"The Lady Galadriel…she found a way? I can go home?"

"Yes," the wizard said, and there was something of sadness in the word. "But not just yet, I think."

"I agree," I admitted. I had known for some time that I was meant to see this out to the end.

"But then, _if you wish_" – and he placed enough emphasis on these words that I wondered if we weren't going to argue about it later – "you may go home. But you are very welcome to stay. From what Thranduil tells me, you have already done the people of Middle Earth much service."

"Thank you," I said, looking at Thranduil now as well as Gandalf. "I am very grateful, but I don't belong here. I will finish this adventure, but when it is over, I will accept Galadriel's help and go back where I belong."


	13. Theft and Honesty

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens."

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_

Chapter 13: Theft and Honesty

Gandalf was not reticent with his opinions about what he dubbed "Thorin's folly," and as I shared most of them, I had only to sit back and let him rant. It was pleasant, actually, to have someone else voice all that had been on my mind.

"And you!" he harrumphed. "Leaving you a prisoner in Mirkwood!"

"She was given all the comforts of an honored guest…" Legolas attempted, but a snort from me silenced him. Across the fire, Tauriel ducked her head to hide her smile.

Gandalf wasn't finished. "And now we must sit at the foot of his great mountain and await his pleasure…or death, rather. I'd say let him have it, but that's hardly fair to Mr. Baggins."

"Yes," I said. "I don't suppose his contract mentioned anything about the stubbornness of dwarves being one of the hazards of the journey?"

"Did yours?" inquired Bard.

"It was in the subtext," I answered him.

Gandalf glared at both of us, but not without humor. "The two of you have more sense than all the dwarves in Middle Earth put together." He stood. "Come, my dear, walk with me. I have one or two things I would speak with you about."

When we were well away from the others, I addressed him plainly. "All went well at Dol Guldur, I assume?"

"As well as could be expected," said Gandalf. "The enemy has been driven out, though once again we have not destroyed him. And now his forces are mustering to face another target. This greedy lot – and I do mean all _three_ armies – has no idea what is coming to them. Though you do, I suppose?"

"Of course," I said.

"And this, then, is the end you are determined to wait out?"

I nodded. My impending return home had been much on my mind since Gandalf had presented me with proof that it could be done. In fact, I was using this knowledge to avoid thinking about other things, like the fact that I might not _live_ to return home.

And still other things besides…

I must have been quiet for some time, because Gandalf said gently, "I must ask you again, are you certain returning home is what you want?"

Part of me wasn't sure. Part of me had known since facing the dragon that this was not a straightforward decision, but I had lived long enough to know that the right ones usually aren't. I stopped walking to look up at Gandalf. "What I want? No, I am not certain of that. My feelings are conflicted, but that would be true no matter what." I took a deep, staggering breath. "I shall miss all of you very much. Even Thorin, however much I may want to throw him off the mountainside just now. But why are you asking me this? Surely you, one of the Very Wise, should know that staying is not an option. Wouldn't it…I don't know, upset the order of things?"

Gandalf licked his lips and clipped them together as he considered the question. "One of the benefits of being among 'the Very Wise,' as you call us, is knowing that you do not always understand the order of things. My heart tells me that, should you go, you would leave something of yourself behind in Middle Earth, and I would be sorry to see you thus torn."

"There is a tearing either way," I said.

I left my tent the next morning to find Bard assembling a delegation. Apparently a herald had already been to Thorin and returned. We were ready to parley again.

"Bilbo?" I asked Gandalf as I stretched.

He chuckled. "That hobbit has been more useful than even I imagined. I do hope no harm comes to him."

"Hobbits are nothing if not resilient," I told him, and ducked back into my tent to find my armor.

I was two steps behind Bard as we approached the mountain. "Hail Thorin! Are you still of the same mind?"

"My mind does not change with the rising and setting of a few suns," said Thorin.

"Or a few thousand," I muttered. Bard reached back a hand to touch my wrist, and I fell silent. Beside me, Tauriel was once again hiding a smile.

"Is there nothing then for which you would yield any of your gold?"

"Nothing that you or your friends have to offer."

"What of the Arkenstone of Thrain?"

Before us, Gandalf revealed the jewel, but not himself. He held it high, but even had it remained level, Thorin could not have missed it. He was in such shock that he did not speak for a long time.

When he came to, his voice was low and angry. "That stone was my father's, and is mine. Why should I purchase my own? But how came you by the heirloom of my house – if there is need to ask such a question of thieves?"

"We are not thieves," said Bard calmly. "Your own we will give back in return for our own."

"How came you by it?" Thorin shouted.

"I gave it to them!" Bilbo yelped, and Thorin whirled on him in rage.

"You! You! You miserable hobbit! You undersized – burglar! By the beard of Durin! I wish I had Gandalf here! Curse him for his choice of you! May his beard wither! As for you I will throw you to the rocks!"

He was lifting Bilbo to do just that, and, despite myself, I was stepping forward to intervene, when Gandalf threw off his costume and shouted, "Stay! Your wish is granted!"

Poor Bilbo was let go none too gently, and I rushed forward to pull him back to our ranks. Not that his Mithril mail wasn't far better than mine, I just didn't like leaving so small a person so exposed. Bard ushered us both behind himself, along with the Arkenstone, as Gandalf continued to chide Thorin.

"You are not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain. But things may change yet."

We left without further commentary on Thorin's character, though more was called for, no doubt. I myself had a few choice words in mind, but I bit them back. When we had made it back to our camp, Gandalf seemed surprisingly cheerful.

"Well done, Master Baggins! I hope you are not too shaken by the experience?"

Bilbo's teeth were chattering, though that could have been the cold. "At least I have not been thrown off any walls."

Gandalf laughed. "We would not have let that happen, my dear Bilbo. Lady Scilla, at any rate, was more than ready to rescue you. On that note, Lady, since you are so disposed to look after Mr. Baggins, perhaps you could do him one more favor? He is in need of a tent, and I was wondering if you'd give up yours? Our burglar deserves some comfort and solitude, I think, after his latest ordeal. You can share with Bard here, as I understand you were living with him and his family already back at the Lake. No doubt he won't mind. Come, Mr. Baggins. Let's get you settled." Gandalf strode off, followed by an overwhelmed and no doubt confused Bilbo.

I stared after them. Beside me, Bard spoke soft and low, "I do not think that old man understands the implications of his request."

I snorted. "If you think Gandalf ever says anything without understanding its implications, you have gravely underestimated him." I started towards my tent, to collect my things or reproach the wizard, I wasn't sure.

Bard followed. "You think he has some hidden purpose?"

I sighed. "It's not so hidden. He thinks my fondness for you will give me reason to stay."

Bard stopped walking. "Why _won't_ you stay?"

I stopped as well, angled my body towards his. I was finding it difficult to look at his face. "I can't. I don't belong here. Where would I go? What would I do?"

"Stay here," he said simply. "Help us rebuild. You are clever and brave, and have proven you can learn anything. And I have grown fond of you as well."

In my astonishment, I met his gaze, and the warmth I saw there entered my heart like a blade.

After a moment, he left me standing there, and I walked on to a bare hillock, where I sat down with a huff.

Bilbo joined me before long. "I've been in caves for days," he explained. "Even a tent feels confining. Hobbits were meant to be outdoors, near earth and growing things…What's the matter with you?"

"Bard asked me to stay in Dale," I said honestly. "Actually, I think he was asking me something else as well."

"Ah," said Bilbo. "And why is that bad, exactly?"

I looked over at him. "I can't stay here, Bilbo. This isn't where I belong, any more than you. If I stay, I could upset the order of things."

"The order of things?" The hobbit looked confused.

"Yes, the way things are supposed to be."

"I see," said Bilbo. "But, it seems to me that, since you've been here, you've done nothing but set things _back_ to the way they are supposed to be. At least, that's how Gandalf tells it, and he would know more about that sort of thing than either of us."

I didn't respond. I was staring resolutely out at the endless stretch of barren hills, the desolation of the dragon.

"Hasn't it occurred you that you yourself may now be part of 'the order of things'?"

"I can't stay here," I said again.

"Maybe none of us can," said Bilbo. "I don't even know if I will ever go home."

"You will go home," I told him, meeting his eyes. "You will live to see the Shire again, I promise you."

"Are you sure?" said Bilbo intensely. Whatever else in him had changed, he still missed Bag End very much.

"Yes," I said, "if it is the last thing I do, I will see that you live through what comes next."

And that, I knew suddenly and with the same certainty I had felt when the dragon came, was my last task.


	14. Five Armies and a Funeral

"You have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have."

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_

Chapter 14: Five Armies and a Funeral*

A single important person sized tent was more than enough room for a hobbit and a scrawny girl, and I was not ready to see Bard again. Bilbo and I spoke long into the night. He had many questions about my home, and while I was quite familiar with his, it was pleasant to listen to him speak about it. Homesickness was settling in my bones, just over a deeper and newer ache. I fed the former, because I could do nothing about the latter.

Bilbo perceived this, but only pushed me once. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"About something Smaug said," I answered him. "That my heart would break into a thousand pieces. I'm just now starting to see what he meant." I remembered also what he had said to Bard, that he would not come out unscathed, and I felt the guilt of that, that I was causing pain to the only person in the story who should have been said to get a happy ending.

Now no one would.

It was with this on my shoulders that I greeted Dain Ironfoot, that I surveyed the mountain with Tauriel, that I poured over maps of the region with Gandalf, that I continued to avoid Bard.

He had other matters to consider anyway. Thorin was clearly withholding payment in the hopes that some more profitable (for himself) course of action would reveal itself, and Dain's folk were grumbling that they were prevented from rejoining their kin. Bard was getting restless and was willing to take the offensive, but Thranduil was reluctant, being, as he himself had said, far more patient than the rest of us.

In the end it was the dwarves that broke first. We were in council when it happened, muttering over this or that course of action or nonaction. Two arrows struck the tent pole directly beside Bard's head, and there were loud cries from outside.

We poured from Bard's tent, scrambling for our weapons. I had one arm half inside my mail, when a call from one of the guards shifted all our attention to the skies. To the North all was black. The upper cloud was winter, but the lower was something else entirely.

"Shit!" I shouted, and shoved Bilbo towards our tent, yelling for him to put on armor. All was in confusion, with men and Elves running here and there. Then Gandalf called for council.

And they came. All of them, in fact, and it was nothing if not a shock to see Thorin and Dain and Bard and Thranduil and all their most trusted councilors squashed together in Bard's tent, with Bilbo and I bringing up the rear. Bilbo made to join Balin, perhaps instinctively, but I snatched him back.

"You're staying with me."

The plan was simple and was the best use of the skills and resources of all the disparate folk gathered there, not to mention the landscape itself. Bard understood ground tactics better than Thorin, but Thorin knew the mountain, and Thranduil had more experience in battle than anyone there save Gandalf. So while the rest of us stood there twitching, these four arranged our forces on the arms of the mountain, the very place we had thought to face the dwarves only fifteen minutes earlier.

In the ramshackle push to the mountain, I found myself with one moment, one break in time, which flowed ever more quickly in the confusion, with Bard. I pressed his hand carefully and looked him in the eye for the first time in days.

"I have to stay with Bilbo," I said. "Be careful. Please."

He squeezed back with a motion of the lips that was not quite a smile, and as he moved swiftly away to command his troops, I felt another of my thousand heartbreaks.

Then the hobbit appeared at my side, clutching a glowing Sting determinedly, and I laughed. "Come Master Baggins," I said. "Let's get ourselves out of the way."

Protecting a hobbit, even an unconscious and invisible one, in a winter storm, is no small task, and I did not actually see much of what was happening around me. Bilbo had some funny idea of sticking close to the Elves, and I allowed him that, but we were cut off from them before long, or rather, they took their fight behind our post, and I was swept up in a flood of goblins that thought one small human would be easy pickings.

But I had faced a dragon since my last goblin battle, and I had not wasted all of the siege time wandering the mountain. Tauriel had given me a bow and taught me how to shoot, and I was far better at this than I was at hand fighting. I had plenty of both to do before the end. The goblins kept coming, one after the other, and though I know they all looked different, I could not have told you anything about them.

I was in a particularly thick spot with three of them, kicking at one while swinging my sword at another and dancing away from the third – no doubt awkwardly and humorously, under different circumstances – when I heard Bilbo's cry of "The Eagles! The Eagles! The Eagles are coming!" and in their distraction, I disposed of my three foes and looked to the skies.

"The Eagles!" Bilbo was still shouting, and the eyes of the soldiers of all five armies were turned upwards. Through the snow and the clouds and the dust and the dark they were indeed coming, dark patches of grace against a grey sky. They swooped down towards us, and the battle reengaged.

"The Eagles!" Bilbo called one last time, then was silent. I looked all about me, but I could not find him.

It was hours later that I heard him again. The world was silent and cold, and I was standing on a rock scanning all about me for some, for any movement. I hoped desperately that I had not failed.

"Hullo! Hullo there!" squeaked a small and pained voice. "What news!"

I whirled. "Bilbo?"

With a chortle, Bilbo reappeared, and I nearly fell off the rock in relief. On my knees, I threw my arms about the hobbit. He hugged me back with a groan.

"You're injured," I said. "And you're wanted. But I must say I'm very glad to see you alive."

"I'm glad to see any of us alive," said Bilbo shakily. "Where am I wanted? Personally I want bed, and a bath, and nice mug of beer."

"Me too," I said. My hair was sticking to my face, which was crunchy with dust and blood.

"But first news," said Bilbo.

"I'll let Gandalf fill you in," I said. "Come on. We need to hurry."

We found Gandalf in a great tent in Dale, where they had laid Thorin, and we were not too late.

"Hail Thorin!" said Gandalf. "I have brought them."

I approached first, and from beneath the blankets Thorin's hand slipped to grasp mine. "Farewell, Seer. Forgive me if I ever thought you had led our quest astray."

"Farewell, King Under the Mountain," I said, and bent to kiss his brow. "I am proud to have known you."

I slipped out, leaving Gandalf and Bilbo to Thorin's last words.

The immediate vicinity was deserted, either because folk were needed elsewhere, or out of respect for a dying king. One lone Elf stood not far, his back to me.

"Legolas?" I called, and when he turned I froze, reading in his face several things I had not understood before, and realizing that there were some disasters not even I could prevent.

"I – I'm sorry," I said, and turned quickly to go, because there was nothing I could do for him.

"Your bowman," his voice croaked after me, arresting my pace. My spine stiffened. "Is on the field, calling your name over and over."

I ran.

I ran over rocks and over bodies. I tripped and scrambled and even fell once or twice. The winter air whipped by me, though there was no wind, and a stench like dead fish and copper filled my nostrils. At last I found him, standing alone between the arms of the mountain, his voice cracking in the cold.

"BARD!" I screamed back and began running again before he could answer. I stumbled to the foot of the mountain and threw myself at him. Strong arms wrapped about me, lifting and crushing me, and I buried my face in blood and sweat and dark curls.

***AN:** Credit for this title goes to the TORn for their list of alternatives titles for the third movie, back when it was still in debate.


	15. There and Back Again

"It left the world and took its flight  
Over the wide seas of the night.  
The moon set sail upon the gale,  
And stars were fanned to leaping light."

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Hobbit_

Chapter 15: A Long Expected Parting

There was a funeral, of course, a large one. When I saw Fili and Kili laid out beside Thorin, I wept openly for the first time since coming to Middle Earth. I wore a black dress, ( a gift from Thranduil, part of a full wardrobe to sustain me until Galadriel came, for there was no longer any need for me to wear men's clothes). On one side of me stood Bard, clasping my hand, and on the other Sigrid, doing the same. There were many kind and noble words spoken, but no pyre, for Thorin was buried under his mountain, forever entombed in the halls he had come to rule.

We built another winter shelter in the ruins of Dale, and plans were drawn up for a more permanent settlement. That would have to wait until the winter storms were over, but in the meantime, those that wanted to came to Dale to live under Bard's rule, and two days after Thorin's burial, he was crowned king with little ceremony.

Bilbo and Gandalf's journey was delayed, but I did not fight this alteration from my memory, as it was due to me. They were waiting on Galadriel and would leave when I did. In the meantime, Sigrid and Tilda turned the ramshackle cottage they had been given into a home, and I divided my time between them and whatever else called my attention. There was much to be done. Building and burying and burning. The massive stacks of goblin bodies burned for days, and it was even longer before the stench left the air.

Christmas passed, and because I could not help myself, I begged a few small jewels of Thranduil to give to the girls. They were delighted, having never possessed anything so fine, but could not understand the reason for the gifts. I told them it was the custom this time of year, where I came from.

And all along my impending departure weighed on me. I took to wandering again when I could be spared. I spoke little and avoided unnecessary company. A day or so before January, I was left to myself in what had become the treasury of Dale, for Dain had given faith to Thorin's empty promises, and I had been given the task of taking inventory.

The shiny rubble that lay around me was overwhelming, and I marveled that with so much anyone should have cause to quarrel. This was barely one fourteenth. I polished and stacked and counted, keeping careful record in the ledger Bard had provided me with. Half of it would be gone, he had said, before the week was out, but he wanted to know what was there all the same.

I was aware that I was holding in my hands the rewards so many had earned, and that my own far less tangible reward was even now journeying towards me, and all at once it was too much. I set the golden bowl I was polishing down and sank to my knees. Since the funeral I had found it increasingly difficult to keep my emotions in check.

I cried. Heavy, body-racking sobs that tore out from my innermost self. Yet they were not enough to release all that I felt.

Bard found me like that. I heard him enter behind me, close the door to the treasury, and kneel to pull me into an embrace.

"You have been avoiding me," he said. "If I read this aright, the dragon's curse has finally found us."

"Yes," I said, "though I do not think he can be held solely responsible." I pulled away to lean back against a stack of chests, my sobs subsiding to the occasional hiccup. "I was doomed the moment I woke up in Rivendell."

Bard was quiet a long while. "Is there nothing I can say to make you stay?" he said finally.

"Could you stay?" I asked him. "If your children were grown and married, prosperous and no longer in need of your care, could you leave them even then?"

"No," he said without hesitation.

I nodded. "I have no children, no husband, but I have a sister, and she, her husband, and her children are everything to me. Or at least they were before I came here."

Bard rose to his feet, pulling me with him. "I understand," he said, and I felt relief roll through me at the simple statement. It did nothing to alleviate my sorrow, but I no longer felt guilty. Then he pulled me close and kissed me.

We had not kissed since the Lake, and my body woke up as if it had been just on the edge of doing so. Every sense lit up with dragon fire, and I wrapped both arms about his neck to make myself as close as possible. His arms in turn were hard around me, his hands pulling my body flush against his.

He broke the kiss first, moving back just far enough that his hands rested on my waist. I held his forearms, steadying myself.

"Go with all the gratitude of myself and my family, Scilla," he said. "You will be sorely missed." He glanced around us at the dwarves' treasure." Is there no reward you will take? I know your bargain was made with the Wise, but I should like to give you something…"

I shook my head. "No one possesses such treasure where I am from. People would only think I had stolen it." I stepped close to kiss him again, softly. "That I will take with me," I said. "It's all I want anyway."

Galadriel came the next day, and it was quickly decided that Bilbo and Gandalf and I would depart the following morning. I had dinner with Bard and his family, for despite the pain, I knew it was wrong to go without saying goodbye to Bain and the girls. I explained the situation as best I could to them, but I don't think they fully comprehended it. Then again, neither did I.

I rose early. I put on the same dress I had been wearing the day I came to Middle Earth, long and loose and strapless, not the sort of thing one wears in winter in the north of any world.

I met the others in a hall of Dale. The ceiling was gone, but the walls remained, and light poured in from the winter sun to reveal a grim company. Thranduil was there, and Legolas. Bilbo and Gandalf stood together, and Bard with his children. I had said my farewells to the dwarves already.

The center of the room had been cleared of any rubble, and on its surface shimmered a substance like a pool of water, yet not. It was the color of nothing and maintained its shape without any visible barriers.

I looked at Galadriel. "Thus is your way home," she said. "You must say your farewells now."

"Farewell, Lady of Lorien," I said. "You have been very kind to me, and I shall not forget. Thank you."

She inclined her head, and I stepped to stand before Thranduil and Legolas. "I hope you will forgive me if, in my human haste, I was ever rude," I told them both. "And I wish you both well." I looked at Legolas. "Especially you. May your heart mend past all expectation."

Legolas nodded gravely and proudly, but Thranduil stepped forward to kiss my cheek. "Farewell, Daughter of the Latter Ages of Men. May your journey take you to much joy."

To Gandalf I gave a smile and a kiss. "Old man," I said, "I know just enough to say with confidence that none have labored longer or expended more energy for the good of Middle Earth than you. I wish you well, and I know you shall have it."

"Farewell, my dear," said Gandalf. "May we meet again!"

I looked at him sharply before kneeling before Bilbo. "It has been a pleasure knowing you, Lady," he said. "I hope our return journeys take us both where we desire."

"Yours will," I assured him. "You will suffer no more danger." We embraced, and some piece of me broke off. Of all those I had met in Middle Earth, Bilbo was the one I was most comfortable calling "friend."

Then I stood and walked to Bard. I hugged the girls and Bain tightly, told them to be brave and kind and to look after their father. Tilda and Sigrid cried, and Bain appeared determined to carry out my requests, and I was sad I would not see what sort of man he turned into.

I turned then to Bard and wondered if an embrace was appropriate with so many looking on, but it did not matter. He stepped forward and kissed me, long and lingering and tender, and there was no one else in all the world. Then he stepped aside. "Farewell, Scilla. I wish you joy."

"And I you," I said softly. I stepped back and turned once more to the pool.

"Can we see where she goes?" asked Tilda suddenly.

Galadriel smiled at her, then raised her hand over the pool. It changed, and in its surface could be seen a humble apartment, small, with sparse decorations, and sunlight highlighting the dust that floated through the air. On the couch slept a young woman, a book sliding from her hand.

There was a knock at the door, and the book fell to the floor as I sat up with a start. From the kitchen, Chaucer the dog was barking, and a small voice was calling through the door, "Open up, Aunt Pris!"

I rose to open the door. My sister and her family spilled in, and the dog jumped up to greet them.

"Sorry," I said. "I was asleep." I rubbed at my eyes. "I had the weirdest dream…"

My brother-in-law looked me over. "You alright? I know we haven't been over in a couple of weeks…"

"Yes, I fine," I said. "No worries."

His gaze was shrewd and assessing. "You sure? You look like you haven't eaten in a while, and when did you do that to your arm?"

I had been scratched my head, and the scar along the inside of my upper arm was exposed. I looked at it now in confusion, then wonder, then down at the rest of myself.

I was leaner, but not from lack of food. I had changed. I could feel the toning in my muscles, the tightness of my skin. I didn't feel starved. I felt stronger.

And on my lips I felt the lingering pressure of Bard's last kiss.


	16. An Unexpected Reunion

"Still 'round the corner there may wait  
A new road or secret gate;  
And though I oft have passed them by,  
A day will come at last when I  
Shall take the hidden paths that run  
West of the Moon, East of the Sun."

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_

Chapter 16: Epilogue: An Unexpected Reunion

_One year later…_

I didn't know how long the dogs had been barking before they woke me. Chaucer, the older and smaller, was wedged behind the toilet, not uncommon behavior during storms, but Beowulf's calls rumbled low and frenzied from the front door.

_The perks and pitfalls of living alone_, I thought, rubbing my eyes. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my whiskey glass still half full, the stress marks of having had company earlier in the evening.

My reserve and reclusiveness – normal behavior for me – had become even more pronounced since my return from Middle Earth. I hadn't, of course, told anyone anything about it, but my sister especially had noticed, and after a few months of odd behavior brought on by seemingly nothing more than having fallen asleep on the couch on a Sunday afternoon, she had started grilling me.

It had begun as little things: "Maybe you should join a book club," or, "Do you want to take the kids for a few hours? I think it would do you good," and had grown into, "Patrick has been by an awful lot lately. He's a good guy. Maybe give him a bit more encouragement?"

That was the very last thing I wanted to do, but it unfortunately had been said in the kids' hearing and soon escalated to, "Priscilla and Patrick, sittin' in a tree…"

Eventually, I heard their sing-song voices even when they weren't around.

In my irritation, I had done the last thing anyone wanted and bought a house out in the country. Way, way out. In a deep corner of the woods. And they could all come to visit me as they liked, because other than for work and major holidays, I hardly budged. At my brother-in-law's insistence that I needed some protection (he didn't know I'd fought goblins), I'd gotten a Great Dane, and that wretched creature was now competing with the autumn thunder for the Rumbles Blue Ribbon.

I sighed and got up, shushing Beowulf and attempting to pull him back towards the bathroom, where I could deal with both animals at once, but he was straining at his collar, and I was not strong enough to really drag him.

I landed in a heap not far from the door, and behind me I heard Chaucer still whining. My head pounded, and not just with the thunder. It had been a lot of whiskey I'd consumed. The windows were open, and I felt the damp on my skin. I was sweaty and tired and in no mood to deal with stubborn dogs who had no more sense than my houseplants.

"The thunder is _not _going to kill you!" I yelled, and I was really yelling all the things I couldn't, because my sister had been at it again earlier that evening, about how I couldn't possibly be happy out here on my own, and how she couldn't understand what had happened to me, though she knew it was _something_. Of course it was something, but I couldn't very well tell her I'd vanished into a fairytale past and left the love of my life behind. I could tell her the love of my life was_ not_ Patrick, but my opinion seemed the least important in the matter.

In the end she had sighed and stood up to go. The kids were tired, and my brother-in-law had already hauled them off to the car and secured them in their car seats.

She'd looked down at me where I still sat at the kitchen table, glaring, and said, "Whatever it is you need to do, _do it_. We know you're unhappy, and we love you." She'd wrapped her arms around me in something like resolve, but I had felt it like a farewell. My sister was giving up, and for some reason that broke what was left of my heart.

Sitting on the floor now, with one animal freaking out in front of me, and the other freaking out behind, I felt powerless and ill-equipped. I couldn't even get my dogs to stop barking, and now the rain was coming into the house.

Lighting lit up the windows, and in one a large silhouette was illuminated. I yelped and scrambled backwards. Beowulf leaped at the door, barking louder. Chaucer joined him from his sanctuary in the bathroom.

There were words on the wind now, mingling with the thunder, but I couldn't make them out. It struck me that my brother-in-law could have come back, concerned about the storm, but somehow even that felt absurd, and I was suddenly aware of how silly I was living out in the woods by myself.

The voice came again, stronger, and as if a mouth were pressed to the seam of the door, "Lady Scilla, if you don't let me in out of this wretched storm, I shall blow your house _down_!"

In astonishment I scrambled to my feet and pushed past Beowulf. I shushed him, then drew back the bolts. Wind and rain erupted inside, and with them Gandalf. I slammed the door shut behind him. Beside me, Beowulf started whining.

"Fierce protector," Gandalf harrumphed, eyeing the dog.

"He'll do," I said. "What are you doing here?"

Gandalf removed his hat, shaking the rain off all over my wooden floors. "Fetching you," he said, "Or at least, I hope so. I have one last task. It's a long one, but I hope you'll be willing to undertake it."

I stared at him, then, remembering my manners, "Whiskey?"

"Whatever that is, I'll take," he answered, and I directed him to the living room while I went to fetch glasses and a bottle from the kitchen. Returning, I lit a fire, then stood in the doorway until I had coaxed Chaucer out of hiding. I settled down with the dogs on either side of me.

"Fine animals," said Gandalf sociably. He took a sip and coughed. "And fine drink, too. I can see why you were so eager to get back to your own time."

"Gandalf," I said.

"Yes, yes, to the point." He took another sip. "Mr. Baggins, as you may well be aware, has set for himself the task of recording all his adventures."

I didn't respond.

"A momentous charge for himself, no doubt, but it will hardly be the account the story _deserves,_ especially as he did not witness some of the key points first hand, which is where you come in."

"Where I…what?"

Gandalf looked me in the eye, and his gaze was both assessing and kind. "My dear, you have been unhappy, one glance would tell me that. Can you truly tell me you made the right decision in returning here?"

I frowned, miserable, my sister's voice ringing in my ears. "In returning…yes. I had a few things to look into. But now…"

"But now you feel you belong elsewhere, and there are other and more interesting things for you to do."

"_How do you know this?"_

'Well, that is quite simple. I've been watching you."

"You _what_?"

"I've been watching you, as has the Lady Galadriel. The portal that opened when you came to Rivendell has never really been closed. That is one of the reasons we were able to send you back. Now, after the past year, we both believe it safe and even prudent for you to return to Middle Earth, for your own sake if none other."

I was silent a long time, during which the thunder continued to rumble, but I hardly heard it. Sensing my distress, the dogs pressed up against my legs, bringing me back to the present. I set down my whiskey and reached to scratch both their ears. "Is…is there a reason for me to return?"

Gandalf was sampling more out of his rocks glass. "There is work, at the very least. It is not only Bilbo who is attempting to set down his adventures. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and I have been speaking, and we feel it is time someone recorded the history of Middle Earth. There are many tales now known only in song that should preserved, preferably in the Common Tongue, but the Elves have other things to tend to. They sense that their time is fading, but would not have it lost and forgotten."

I knew then what he was asking. A clerk, a scholar, a job recording great deeds and tales...if I really listened to myself, I longed for such a task.

"And," said Gandalf ominously. I looked up, and there was a glint in his eye. "You need not do all this from Rivendell. I suspect, with the dragon gone and trade resumed, it will be easy enough to exchange messages and letters from Dale."

My heart swelled, and I said nothing, but Gandalf read all he needed in my face.

"Gather your things," he said. "The dogs can come too."

Sensing adventure, Beowulf jumped, but Chaucer pressed harder against me and wagged his tail. I patted him, then smiled, a real smile, for the first time in a year, at Gandalf.

This time around, I had a chance to think about my journey, and so I threw a few luxuries into a backpack: jeans, mostly. When this was done, I found pen and paper and hastily scrawled a letter to my sister. I left it tacked to the refrigerator door.

_Taking your advice_, was all it said.

I put the dogs on leashes and followed Gandalf out into the rain. We were only there a moment, then the sky cracked, and we stood once again in the ruins at Dale. I looked up at Gandalf, hoping my eyes expressed the gratitude I could not. He held out one hand, and I handed over the leashes. I dropped my pack to the floor and ran.

The house I sought was not hard to find. It was larger and grander and _sturdier_ than when I had left it, but it could not be mistaken. It was a king's home, yet a modest and comfortable one.

I came to a halt at the door and hesitated. It was night, but the lamps and fires were burning, and voices flickered indistinguishably from within. It occurred to me that with his new status, Bard might have remarried, and I felt a sudden dread that Gandalf had led me into further heartbreak. I stood there, paralyzed, my hand half-lifted to knock.

A window opened near the door, and the contents of a pot were thrown into the street. I jumped, and the figure at the window did as well. Then, "_Scilla?_" Sigrid said.

I nodded, unable to speak, as I heard the creaking of chairs and a jostling from within.

The door opened, and light spilled out to frame Bard's figure, lean and sturdy. A moment passed, and two, and then I was gathered into strong arms and firelight.

**The End**

_For my own sister, who likes it when stories end "as they should."_


End file.
